


sunsets

by StrangerInAStrangeLand



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand
Summary: Stephen Strange goes to a picnic.
Relationships: Christine Palmer/Stephen Strange (past), Stephen Strange/Wong
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. the sun was sinking into the atlantic

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! I hope you're all staying safe during these times. As you might've seen from the tags, this work deals with some pretty heavy subject matter. If the topics described in the tags are triggering for you in any way, PLEASE click away. Your health and safety always comes first.

It's a bright summer's day in New York.

Stephen Strange basked in the sunlight raining through his window. He peered through the glass, noticing the smiles on the civilians below him. There was a miraculous blue sky overhead-- not a cloud in sight! It was rare that he would experience a day like today, what with all the gloomy interdimensional worlds he'd visit on the daily. 

But today was special. Today was unlike any other day. Today was a day that would change his life. 

Today-- he was going to a picnic. 

He dressed out of his midnight blue robes and into something much more casual. He wore a gray t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a light gray jacket. It wasn't anything flashy, but it was comfortable. 

Making his way downstairs, he found Wong at the foot of the steps with a cup of tea. 

"Good morning, Stephen," he greeted with a smile. 

"Morning, Wong," he replied, kissing him on the cheek. 

"What do you have planned today?" 

"I'm going to a picnic with the Avengers and a few other heroes. I'll be back by 4:30."

"Take all the time you want," Wong assured. "You don't get to hang out with them that often."

He chuckled, strutting towards the door. 

"Feel free to join us anytime. The more, the merrier!" 

He opened the door. Before he could leave, however, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. 

"I love you," Wong said, returning his kiss on the cheek. 

With an immature giggle, Stephen nodded and kissed him back. 

"I love you too." 

Wong waved goodbye as Stephen exited the Sanctum. It all felt so...different. Here he was, walking. With his feet. He didn't have his Cloak or any relics-- it was just him, walking through the city. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, plastering a warm smile onto his face, 

Eventually, he found the park. His eye found an array of picnic tables along the side of the gates. There were some baskets of food lined up on the tables, accompanied by a speaker set-up playing classic, upbeat rock songs. A few of his friends were already there, similarly dressed in casual attire. 

Taking a deep breath, Stephen increased his smile and strolled on over to the table. 

The first person to notice him was Peter Quill. "Stephen!"

The space traveller ran up to him, affectionately shaking his shoulder. 

"You made it, buddy!"

"For the first time," Stephen joked. 

Soon enough, Steve was walking up to greet him as well. 

"Didn't think you'd come," he said, extending a hand. Stephen shook it slowly, trying to look "normal", but also trying to take care of his hands at the same time. How long has it been that handshakes were abnormal to him? "Come sit down, we're just hanging out." 

Steve directed him to the tables, where Thor, Carol, and Natasha were hanging out. Stephen bashfully waved at them, not really knowing what to say other than an awkward "hi." He didn't see them outside of professional business that much, so just about everything felt somewhat surreal. 

“Hey, Strange! Long time no see.”

“Looking better than ever, I see.”

“Here to conjure up some fun times?” 

But nevertheless, Thor, Carol, Natasha, and everyone else accepted him with open arms. They beamed at him, inviting him into their conversations. Scott and Bruce found them a few minutes later, bringing with them a few park toys. Now the party was really getting started. 

Stephen didn't eat much of the picnic (he hadn't been eating much in general lately), but he started to relax with them. He laughed with the Avengers, entertaining them with stories about his interdimensional travels. It had been a long time since the sun had touched his skin. The other heroes were relaxing for once, keeping their minds off of the potential threats they'd have to deal with in the coming days. 

This was great. Stephen didn't know how to describe how he was feeling right now. It was so...unnatural. He didn't know if he felt entertained, overjoyed, or what have you. For once, he didn't have a single care in the world. 

Actually, he had the perfect word to describe his feelings. 

_ Artificial _ . 

Oh, he was laughing. He was smiling. He was telling jokes left and right. But that didn't mean he was necessarily happy. He'd been forcing smiles onto his face for the past...he'd lost count how many months it had been. But either way, no matter how brightly he smiled, or how loudly he chuckled with his teammates, he still felt  _ sad.  _

And he didn't know how to change it. 

He didn't know how to describe it, but he had this weird anchor in his chest constantly weighing him down. Or maybe that's what all his friends thought about  _ him.  _ He had lost his appetite, his motivation, his joy...he couldn't say it was a unique experience, though. He'd been like this for who knows how long. 

He was hoping that attending this picnic would help, but obviously it didn't. He didn't know what to do anymore. He tried closing off his friends and that didn't work. Now he tried opening himself up to his friends and that wasn't working either. So what was the answer? What should he do? 

"Damnit!" A familiar voice ripped him away from his thoughts. He turned to see Quill gaping at a small forest, dejected. "Where'd the damn frisbee go?" 

Without a moment's notice, Stephen popped up from his seat and made his way towards Quill. 

"I'll get it," he told him. Quill flashed him a smile in gratitude and said something else, but it was drowned out by Stephen's thoughts as he walked into the trees. 

Frankly, he didn't know where the frisbee had gone either. He just needed a break from all the jabbering and the chortling and the overwhelming joy. Every time he isolated himself with his thoughts, they grew rampant. But it was a price he was willing to pay for only a few minutes of pure, utter silence. 

He slowly walked along the trees, trapping himself with images of his potential deaths. He didn't bother to try and steer them away, anymore. In fact, he almost invited them. 

There was trickling in the distance. It was hypnotic, like it was calling out for Stephen. So instead of wallowing in scenarios and dying dreams, he sought the noise out. There was a new sense of longing in his soul that, although brief, was enticing. 

And finally, after moments of searching, he found his treasure. Nestled in the depths of the small forest was an alluring, deep lake. 

Stephen stood still. He approached it cautiously, checking how deep it really was. 

He peered down at the water. All he saw was his reflection staring back at him. Plain. Bored. Empty.

"Hey, Strange! Where'd you go?"

There were voices chasing after him. They were trying to pull him back into that fake sense of belonging. The warmth was fleeting, like it always did. But the difference this time was that he had a doorway. 

One step in, and all his problems would disappear.

"Stephen?" The voices were worried now. Their methods were growing stronger. But the louder they grew, the more Stephen tried to shut them out. "Stephen, where are you?"

His eyes shut. He planted his feet into the ground, refusing to let the voices take him away.

“Did you get lost or something, buddy? Call out if you can hear my voice!” 

Two hands slammed into the sides of his head, blocking out their words. Make it stop, make it stop,  _ make it stop, make it stop,  _ **_make it stop..._ **

And stop, they did. Silence. Pure, raw silence. All Stephen could hear was the murmurings of the river beneath him.

It sounded like...it was calling for him. Like it wanted him to step in. 

Its whispers were enticing, to say the least. His soul twisted at the idea of a way out-- any kind of way out. And this lake was promising just that.

He looked down again. His reflection looked up. Sneering at him with its glare, rippling with the water. Judging him.

Stephen sneered back at his reflection. He jolted forward, his body shifting towards the water.

He blinked his eyes. The reflection was still there, silently mocking him. Behind him, he could hear the voices yelling for him over and over again, breathlessly. 

"Stephen? Where are you?" 

Not here, Stephen thought. Not anymore. 

Closing his eyes, he drowned out all voices other than that of the water. He took a deep breath, took one step forward...

And he fell. 

Just like that, the world began to disappear. His body was carried by the rhythmic waves, its clutches pulling him further and further down. Water rushed through his lungs, murdering any air left in him. His thoughts grew hazier, his body didn't bother to struggle against the lake's harmony, and soon he was sinking into the dark, dark water. 

The last thing he saw was a shade of midnight blue. At last, he knew what he was feeling at this very moment. 

He felt fine. 

* * *

_ "Stevie!"  _

_ When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on a beach. Donna was dancing in the ocean. She wasn't flailing or calling for help like in every other dream.  _

_ "Stevie!" She repeated, grinning widely. "Watch me!"  _

_ He watched her cautiously. She spun around in the water, laughing as the water splashed around her. But her performance was interrupted by Victor dumping a pail of water on her head.  _

_ "Ugh, Victor!" She exclaimed, slapping him. All Victor did was laugh.  _

_ "Victor!" Stephen called out. "Be nice to your sister."  _

_ "You're not my dad," Victor snapped back, sticking a tongue out at him before throwing another bucket of water at his sister. Donna laughed as she attempted to run away from him, only for him to quickly chase her.  _

_ Stephen brought his knees to his chest, watching his two youthful siblings playing in the distance. Their joyful laughter was like music to his ears. The ocean itself was strikingly beautiful-- the image of a sun beginning its descent. The sun was sinking into the Atlantic, slowly blanketing the sky in pure, beautiful darkness.  _

_ A smile crept up Stephen's face as he closed his eyes and basked in the growing night. His face hurt a little, as he wasn't used to smiling. But for the first time since he could remember, he felt at peace.  _

* * *

He wasn't expecting to wake up. 

For a moment, he thought he'd arrived in the Afterlife. But as he opened his eyes, he could see the all too familiar curtains that dressed the Sanctum head to toe. He was lying on his back, probably on the couch he had collapsed into one too many times in the past. But most of all, he was completely exhausted. 

That possibility that he hadn't died sunk in his chest like an anchor. There was this looming dread that his friends had been subjected to his sudden suicide attempt. The last thing he heard was someone's voice calling out for him before he plunged into the cold, murky water. 

"Where am I?" He wondered aloud, hoping some otherworldly being would reply.

"In your study." 

But that voice confirmed his suspicions. Rather than an angel, a demon, or what-have-you informing Stephen about his recent death, he weakly peered his head to see Wong sitting in a chair right beside him. 

"Your friends brought you here," he explained, concern sewn in his expression. Just the image of him was enough to make his heart sink. 

Stephen attempted to hoist himself up, but his arms ended up buckling under him. Wong helped him up, keeping one hand on his back and one hand on his thigh. 

"Oh jeez," Stephen muttered, out of breath. "I-I must've fallen asleep at the picnic, haha." 

"Yes, that's what I assumed happened," Wong nodded, keeping a hand on his back. "I was worried at first when you didn't arrive home, but they let me know that you were safe and accounted for." 

Stephen forced a smile onto his face. As long as Wong didn't know what happened, everything was fine. He caressed his face lovingly and went to stand up. 

"Well, how about I make us some food and we can have dinn--"

A firm hand gently brought him back into the cushions of the couch. 

"No, you should rest," Wong shushed him. "You've been out for days."

His eyes widened. A chill struck down his spine. He nearly shot up from the couch. 

"D--Days?" 

Wong nodded solemnly, his expression indecipherable. He was sure it was just him, but Stephen could've sworn that the walls began to close in. Digging his fingernails into the couch, that singular word running through his mind. Days. He was out for days. Everyone was worrying about him for hours. He'd caused so much trouble with just one action. 

A sigh fell into the room. Stephen turned to see Wong sitting next to him, looking down. But that's when Stephen noticed a book in his hand rested on his thigh. It had a worn out cover with multiple pages spilling out of it, each covered in messy, almost illegible writing. 

No. No, no, no, no, no...

The only thing that made this worse was Wong's next sentence. 

"I know the truth. I know you fell into the water. Or rather, you let  _ yourself _ fall."

Stephen wanted to run. He wouldn't get far, he was sure of it, but he just wanted to escape. To disappear. To stop existing. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," he swallowed thickly, struggling to remain calm. He brought his shaking hands to his chest, trying to get them to stay still. 

As expected of his usual demeanor, Wong didn't react immediately. He placed a hand over Stephen's quivering ones, signaling that he was safe here. He wasn't going to be yelled at, nor would he be harmed. But his face became grim as he began to recount the story. 

"One of them saw you dive into the water," he started. "The one with the dirty jacket."

"Quill?"

He nodded. "Yes, him. He saw you fall in and rushed to save you. I do not know if he knows you did it intentionally, or if he thinks it was an accident. The blue one called me at the hospital in the middle of the night--"

"Steve."

"-- _ Steve _ called me in the middle of the night and relayed the whole thing back to me. I went there and I...I saw you. Spread out on the bed, hooked up to beeping machines. Pale. Despondent. Possibly dying. And I admit it-- I was scared."

Stephen felt lightheaded. "I'm sorry for causing a ruckus--" 

"You don't need to apologize," A gentle stroke of his hand reminded Stephen that he was in a safe zone. "It's okay. Eventually, once your vitals were stable, your friends decided to let you come home with me so you wouldn't freak out when you woke up. Granted, I don't know why they chose to do that, but at least you didn't panic." 

At first, Stephen quipped internally, deciding to keep his mouth shut. He tried to take in Wong's words patiently. But no matter how calmly he told his story, the sorcerer's eyes couldn't help but linger toward the book nestled in Wong's lap. He debated with himself whether it was too late to snatch it from him. A small voice in the back of his head tried telling him that maybe it didn't have any role in the story; maybe Wong just found it on the ground and went to pick it up. 

But of course, the story wasn't over. And as it continued, a looming sense of dread continued to pile onto Stephen. 

"So I brought you back to your study," Wong continued. "And when I laid you down onto the couch, a book fell on the ground."

He held up the book in his lap. Stephen nearly choked back a sob. It was pitiful, he knew, but the world felt like it was collapsing around him at this moment. 

"I initially wasn't going to read it, but when I picked it up, I saw the page." 

He showed him a page written in almost indiscernible handwriting 

_ "October 18th. I think I'll walk into traffic. It's simple, but it could work. The city's always busy, so it could look accidental. I'm unrecognizable outside of my robes so it could work." _

He flipped to another page. 

_ "December 9th. Freezing to death seems like a reliable option as of late. I can make it look unintentional. sparing Wong the burden of knowing I've been hurting myself. But then again, I'd be ruining Wong's Christmas. I couldn't do that to him, after everything he's done for me." _

Then another page. 

_ "February 21st. The Sanctum is pretty high up. I could potentially stage something. An accident? No, no, I'm dumb but I'm not that dumb. A hostage incident? Murder? Either way, it's an option. I'll keep it in mind." _

Then another. 

_ "April 30th. I could stab myself. I could poison myself. Slit my wrists and bleed out in the bathtub. I don't care at this point I just need a way out. I don't care I don't care I don't care. I can't keep living. I can't keep burdening anyone else. I need to die." _

Then one final page. 

_ "June. It's settled. I'm killing myself. I don't know how, and I don't know when, but I'm killing myself. I can't stay here anymore-- I'm just-- I can't be happy. I keep pretending and I keep acting and I keep lying but nothing ever feels right. Am I doing something wrong? Am I just being a burden?  _

_ I'm selfish. I'm so fucking selfish. How could I do this to Christine? How could I do this to Wong? I just-- I don't deserve to exist.  _

_ I don't deserve to exist.  _

_ I don't deserve to..."  _

He trailed off. At this point, Stephen was on the verge of tears. He knew how it ended. He didn't need to look at the page to remember the blood staining the bottom of the paper. He could see every chicken scratched word in full, explicit detail. The disgusting handwriting plagued his mind for months. 

Wong said nothing else. After a few moments of stressful silence and an attempt to pull himself together, Stephen cleared his throat. 

"I really lost my eloquence on the last paragraph there." 

"Why do you want to kill yourself?" Wong shot back at him, standing up, still maintaining the calmness in his voice. 

But even with his calmness, even with his patient tone, Stephen felt himself intoxicated by some sort of rage. 

"Do I need a reason?" He snapped at him, breathless. "I just-- I-- I'm sad. And I'm tired. And whenever I try to be happy, I just end up being sad again." 

He tried not to cry. Suck up the tears, he told himself. He couldn't cry. Men didn't cry. 

"What was it like?"

He looked at Wong incredulously. 

"When you died. What was it like? How was Death? Did Death greet you with open arms? Or did it refuse you and spat you back into the world?" 

Stephen shook his head with a groan. 

"Wong, I didn't die. I'm still here--"

"I'm not talking about today, I'm talking about when you started writing this!" He raised his voice for the first time in months, raising up the book. "Because obviously, you don't feel alive. You don't feel like you should be alive. You might be here standing, talking, singing songs with the Avengers, but you're really just a walking corpse. What's the point to life if you don't think it has any meaning?" 

"It started when I was 16, okay?!" Stephen barked, letting the tears stream down his face at last. He jumped from the couch, plunged a shaking finger into Wong's chest, and tried not to look at his lover's stunned expression. With that one pained exclamation, everything began tumbling out. 

"Donna-- my  _ sister _ \-- she  _ died _ because of me, and I felt...sad. So I became a doctor. And then I started drinking. And then I started feeling  _ really _ sad. So I drank more. I thought I was getting better once I became the Sorcerer Supreme, but I'm still-- still just a fucking mess." 

With a visceral sob, Stephen dropped his head into his hands, muttering obscenities to himself. Once he was powerful. Once he was fierce. Once he stared the devil in the eye and told him to fuck off. But here he was, reduced to a quibbling, pathetic mess of a man. 

But Wong didn't yell back at him. He cupped his face in his hands and spoke softly, as he always did after a mission. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I didn't want you to worry," Stephen said, voice shaking. "I didn't want anyone to worry. I didn't even tell Christine, but then I almost fucking stabbed my hand with a goddamn scalpel in college, and she immediately caught on. And she-- dragged me to a goddamn mental clinic, and everyone was treating me like a  _ little kid _ , and none of my colleagues looked at me the same way until graduation." He breathed in and out a couple of times, but it did nothing to console him. This was it-- this was his lowest point. He'd finally hit rock bottom. And just when he thought he was getting better. "I don't want any of the Avengers knowing." 

"But they care about you--"

_ "THAT'S THE PROBLEM!"  _

Yelling wasn't a cathartic experience for him. Usually, it only resulted in more pain. And this time wasn't any different. His sobs had finally calmed down, but now Stephen looked as if he was seething with rage. He pulled away, almost stumbling against the couch. His anger wasn't directed at Wong, or Christine, or any of the other people in his life. It was entirely against  _ himself. _

"The problem isn't that they don't care-- the problem is they  _ do _ . If I told them I wanted to kill myself, then they'd give me resources and help and they'd be patient and caring and kind and I'd know that they're too good for me. Because would I give them the same amount of care? Hah! I'm not a good person, Wong! I'm not a  _ fucking _ good person! I'm a mistake-- I'm reckless and shitty and fucking inane  _ every single day! _ Do you think I can change?!" 

Even after all the yelling and screaming and crying, Wong just nodded. 

"I'll help you," He went to grab his hands. "I know you can change." 

Stephen shook his head and swatted his hand away. 

"I can't go back there, Wong-- I--I don't want to die in there-- I--"

"I'm not taking you there," he assured, standing in place. If Stephen didn't want him to hold him, then he wouldn't hold him. Simple as that. "You'll stay here, in the city, with me and your friends. And you'll get better. I promise you. I mean, look at you-- you acknowledged the problem."

"That's the bare minimum." 

"Which is still an accomplishment. Knowing is half the battle."

"Is the other half constantly refusing to change? Face it-- I'm a burden. I'm not going to change. Because I've tried to get help before, and for a while I was okay, and every single time it all comes back to this. I'm gonna relapse--"

"--and I'll be there for you when you do. You'll get back on your feet--"

"--only to fall face first into the ground again--"

"--but you'll pick yourself up--"

"--and throw myself back down--"

"--you're capable of change!" 

"But I will never get better." 

He looked at him, begging for some sort of reaction. Anger, pain, sorrow, anything. But all he received was a quiet walk toward him. 

Wong looked up at him, placing his hands around his waist. Stephen didn't fight it. He collapsed into him, sobbing into his shoulder. He felt Wong wrapping his arms around him, stroking his back compassionately. He let him cry for as long as he needed to. 

"I'm not expecting you to get better immediately," he said. "I'm not expecting you to become perfect. I'm not expecting anything of you. I can't force you to be happy or satisfied or glad that you're alive. I just want you to be safe. Because despite what you might think, this world wouldn't be able to function without you."

Stephen exhaled, shakily separating from him. 

"...you're just speaking from literal terms.

"Please," Wong commanded. He pressed his forehead into Stephen's. "Please, stop taking every opportunity to belittle yourself. The first step to improving yourself is making an effort to improve."

No arguing. No struggling. No fighting. He was too tired to fight anymore. He let himself be led back to the couch. At this point, he basically fell into the pillows. His head was spinning. 

Wong draped a blanket over his shoulders. 

"I'm sorry for reading your journal," he said at last. It surprised Stephen that he'd even apologize for it, considering what they were yelling at each other about just moments prior. But it was always usual of Wong to admit his faults, even if the end justified them. It was one of the many things he loved about him. "It was a violation of privacy, and I understand if you don't trust me right now. But I hope I can earn back your trust in the coming time. Do you want tea?" 

Stephen was halfway gone at that point, but he was lucid enough to respond. 

"Please." 

With an understanding nod, Wong started to make his way to the kitchen. However, right before he stepped out of the door, he went back to the couch and stroked some hair behind Stephen's ear. He didn't flinch from the movement. He gazed at him with melancholy. 

"Get some rest. You've had a rough year."

He finally went to exit the study. Stephen was on his side now, gripping the blanket, hoping to fall back into sleep and away from wherever he was right now. But then, with an exhausted strain, he said one last thing. 

"I love you."

And whether or not it was the fatigue or the disconsolation, he could've sworn Wong replied to him. 

_ "I love you too."  _

Then again, maybe that was just a dream. 


	2. sticking his head above the surface of the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong waited for Stephen to return that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I spent a lot of time on this one as well. It's mostly just a flashback, but the next chapters are gonna continue the story further.

7:30 AM, a bright summer Wednesday. On the dot, Wong had gotten out of his bed to fix up two cups of tea.

A long time ago, he would go through this process with Stephen. He'd be in the kitchen, already preparing the kettle, and then Stephen would walk up to him and drape his arm around his shoulders. He'd press a kiss against his forehead, which he'd return with a kiss on his cheek, then their day would begin.

He'd whip up the tea while Stephen prepared breakfast, then they'd talk over their meal. Stephen would mumble his plan for the day and he'd listen intently. They'd reach for the salt at the same time and "accidentally" end up holding hands. Stephen would give him a truly adorable smile, before gently pulling away and denying it was intentional.

But, to his dismay, this routine was slowly fading away. They still ate breakfast together, but usually Wong was the only one making it. And while Stephen still took care of dinner, Wong noticed he'd been waking up later than usual. 8 AM used to be sleeping in for the good doctor, but as of recently, he'd be lucky if he woke up before 11.

Today, he assumed Stephen would sleep in yet again. He did his normal routine, alone as usual, and eventually found himself sitting at the front of the Sanctum with a cup of tea. But then, at exactly 8:30, he heard Stephen descending down the stairs. 

Turning around, he noticed that (for once) he wasn't wearing his wrinkled blue robes. Dressed in a simple gray tee and blue jeans, he looked the most relaxed he had been in a lifetime. 

You're up early, Wong wanted to say. But he advised against it. It felt rude to tease a man he loved for waking up early again. He was surprised that he was actually awake at this hour, but he definitely couldn't say he wasn't saddened by the development. 

So instead, he sipped his tea and smiled at him warmly. 

"Good morning Stephen."

Stephen tipped his head at him and grinned. He had seen him smile a million times before, but the image always sent his heart tumbling every time. He walked over and kissed him on the cheek. 

"Morning Wong." 

He looked chipper. That was a rare sight. 

"What do you have planned today?" 

"I'm going to a picnic with the Avengers and a few other heroes," he explained, fixing the collar of his light jacket. "I'll be back by 4:30."

"Take all the time you want." Wong told him. "You don't get to hang out with them that often." 

"Feel free to join us anytime. The more, the merrier!" 

Wong shook his head, chuckling with him. Stephen made his way to the door, but before he could leave the Sanctum, Wong laid his hand on his shoulder. 

"I love you," he said sweetly, leaning in to return his kiss. 

"I love you too."

Stephen left the Sanctum, happy as a clam. Wong couldn't help but beam. It was almost sad that the simple image of his lover smiling was rare nowadays. 

He wished it would stay that way forever. 

* * *

8:30 pm, 4 hours after Stephen insisted he would return, Wong received a call.

Now, he didn't think much of it when he didn't come back right away. The sun was out, the skies were blue, and there was no threat in New York City to be dealt with. It was like the planets had aligned to give Stephen the perfect day. And with all the stress he's been dealing with lately, it'd be a shame if it had to come to an end due to some self-imposed curfew. So, Wong naturally assumed that Stephen spent the rest of the day with the Avengers doing whatever they did to have fun. Maybe they went out for a drink or something, who knows? As long as Stephen was happy. 

But when that phone call came late at night, he couldn't shake the feeling that...something happened. Not anything like certain death, but something went wrong and he had to pick his lover up. He didn't jump to conclusions-- maybe he just got drunk and he'd have to pick up and take home a clingy sorcerer --but he was definitely worried. 

It didn't help that he didn't commonly use any smart technology (all a waste of money, he thought). He only got a phone at Stephen's insistence, vowing to only use it in case of extremely dire situations where it was the only source of communication. The number that flashed across his screen wasn't named, so it just could've been a spam number, but something was nagging at the back of his head that it had something to do with Stephen. 

And naturally, when he answered the call, the first thing he heard was not the sound of his lover's voice, but the stoic voice of Steve Rogers. 

"Doctor Strange is in the hospital." 

His voice didn't falter. The Captain didn't sound panicked at all. Which only begged the question: how long had they been there? 

"Why?" was all Wong could ask. 

"Something happened at the picnic-- We're at the Manhattan Hospital, Room #110," he spoke firmly, noticeably concerned, but trying to remain calm nonetheless. 

It was appropriate that Wong followed his example and remain calm as well. He clutched his sling ring. 

"I will meet you there." 

He ended the call. 

He needed a moment to let the information settle in. There was an emergency-- an "accident" --that required medical assistance. Now, he had about a thousand questions running through his head, but all of them could be simplified into one single concern: was Stephen okay?

Stay calm, he told himself. He didn't know if Stephen was awake, but he knew that Stephen's first sight of him after whatever happened couldn't be him panicking. He just had to remain stoic until they got home. 

Donning his sling ring and a light jacket to cover his formal robes, Wong opened a portal to the hospital. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. He set foot onto linoleum flooring, looking around the all-white room. The ring closed behind him, leaving him alone and outside of Stephen's hospital room. 

He looked for anyone to relay the information to him. The first person he saw was a tall man who he presumed was Steve. He walked over to him, trying to catch his attention. 

"What happened?" 

But when he turned around, it turned out it wasn't Steve at all. It was some guy with messy hair and a damp, dirty jacket. 

"Oh, you must be his friend," He said, oddly relaxed. Wong nodded cautiously. Was this man even an Avenger? "He fell into the water. I saw it happen. Don't worry, I dove in and saved him."

He...could see that. 

Nevertheless, he tried to remain polite. He skipped past the details and asked the first question that was on his mind. 

"How long has he been unconscious?" 

The man mulled it over, counting on his fingers, before the real Steve Rogers noticed and approached them. He could tell that there was no desire for introductions, so he jumped straight into answering his question. 

"9 hours," he stated firmly. "He's been going in and out ever since we brought him here. That lake did a bad number on him."

Wong turned his head to face the door that led to Stephen's room. Without thinking twice, he asked. 

"Can I see him?" 

Steve didn't miss a beat. He just gave him a friendly smile. 

"Of course." 

He opened the door, leading him to the hospital bed where his lover was spread out. 

The sorcerer was unconscious, heinously pale (even by his standards). There were machines surrounding him, needles prodding into his skin. Even though he spoke many tongues, Wong was always unable to decipher the medical language that Stephen spoke fluently. 

It wasn't a terrifying sight. Wong had seen him in even worse condition before. But still, it was chilling. 

He approached him, eyes trailing across the bed. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the words. His mind was blank. 

Steve was the one to break the silence

"You can stay here, if you'd like," he offered. Wong could tell that he wasn't saying it out of obligation. Steve was gazing at him with pure, honest sympathy. "I'm sure he'd love your company." 

All Wong could do was nod. 

Steve smiled sadly at him and decidedly let him be. Without another word, he exited the room, leaving Wong alone. 

He sat down in the chair next to the bed. Reaching over to gently hold his hand, Wong began whispering a few healing incantations, weaving the spells into Stephen's skin. It wasn't much, but it would help. 

He peered upon the tremors etched into Stephen's hand. It broke his heart when he noticed, even within deep sleep, his hand still quivered in pain. 

The next day, Wong woke up sitting in that same hospital chair. It was horrid for his back, but even more horrid was the fact that Stephen was still unconscious. It wasn't like he was gonna wake up immediately, of course, but the sight of him sprawled on the bed asleep still sent shivers down his spine. 

For once, he didn't know the time. He could barely remember what day of the week it was. Luckily, some color had returned to his skin, but not much. His hands were still shaking. 

He spent a few hours weaving in and out of consciousness, gazing at Stephen's depressing state, until someone suddenly knocked on the door. 

"Come in." 

The door opened. Steve stepped into the room and quietly beckoned Wong. He got up from his seat and walked out of the room, though not without gazing at Stephen before he exited. 

When he turned around, he saw that it wasn't just Steve waiting for him, but an entire group of heroes, each looking more tired than the next. They all must've been at the picnic yesterday. It was nice to know that they cared for Stephen, even if he wasn't the closest to them. 

"Wong," Steve addressed him. Wong was readying himself to be kicked out of the hospital until Stephen was better "We've been thinking about it, and we were wondering if you wanted to take Stephen home."

Now that was a bit of a shock. 

Wong looked up at him, gape-mouthed as Steve continued. 

"He's perfectly stable, you obviously have the resources to further take care of him, and we don't want him to freak out when he wakes up--"

"You don't have to say anything else," Wong interrupted. "I'll take him home." 

Steve just grinned. He didn't throw any further questions his way. Wong was a sorcerer, he assumed, so it wasn't like Stephen was going home painfully. 

He followed Wong back into the room. A few hours and paperwork later, Stephen was unhooked from the machines. Wong gathered him in his arms and opened a portal to home. 

Taking one step into the ring, Wong looked over his shoulder to give one last smile to Stephen's friends. 

"Thank you." 

Steve was the only one to smile back. The rest of the heroes looked either too tired to stay engaged, or too disinterested to care. 

But that didn't matter. They were going home. 

* * *

So home they went. 

Wong immediately entered Stephen's study and sprawled him out onto his fainting couch. With a wave of his hand, he was changed into some more comfortable garments, and a light blanket was spread over him. 

He looked less like a corpse now, but he still didn't look completely healthy. Wong sat down next to him and weaved healing spells into his palms, watching as more color slowly returned to his skin. 

Tea. He'd need tea when he woke up. It would do well at calming his nerves, and the healing properties would help patch up any other injuries. 

Wong quickly got up from the couch, but ended up bumping into the side-drawer. 

A book dropped to the floor. 

He went to pick it up and put it back where it came from, but then he noticed it was covered in...blood stains....

The book had fallen down face first. He didn't mean to read it, but then his eyes gazed at the sentence gracing the top of the page. 

_ "June. It's settled. I'm killing myself."  _

And then he started reading further. He flipped back, trying to find something positive. But all he got were pages and pages of terrible, terrible details. 

He looked at Stephen with concern. What did the man with the dirty jacket say? 

"He fell into the water." 

Fell into the water. 

_ Fell into the water.  _

No. No, he couldn't have-- 

He read through the journal again. This was a complete invasion of privacy, he knew that...but this information was terrifying. Stephen never told him that he was feeling like this. 

Why? 

Wong closed the book when there was nothing left to read. He took some long, long moments to let everything he just read settle. 

He held onto the journal tightly. For the rest of the day, he did nothing except watch over Stephen and hold onto the book. 

* * *

Two days later, at 11:30 am, Stephen woke up. And, well, the rest is history.

* * *

The next day, he woke up at precisely 7:30 AM to an equally bright summer morning. 

Once again, Stephen was sleeping in. He had slept for the rest of the day after their conversation. Wong snuck into the study to check up on him, and just like yesterday, he looked pale and exhausted. He couldn't help but frown. 

He shut the door quietly and let him be at peace. Tea, of course, was the first thing on his mind. It was unlikely that tea would ease yesterday's events, but it would do well at keeping him calm for the day. Throughout the tea-making process, he felt waves of guilt washing over him. 

He couldn't shake the feeling that this was his fault, in a way. If he hadn't overstepped his boundaries, if he kept his curiosity to himself, then maybe Stephen wouldn't feel unsafe in his own home. 

Maybe it was a necessary evil-- had he not looked through his journal, it was entirely possible that Stephen would've ended up killing himself that day. But even now, it's not like he's feeling any better. It's evident that he feels even worse after his secrets were revealed. 

They'd take it one step at a time, Wong thought. Slow and steady. And he'd stay by his side every step of the way. 

He waited until 11 AM before he entered the study with the tea of tray. Stephen (thankfully) was awake, sitting up with his head in his hands. 

Wong could tell he didn't want to talk right now. He set the tray on the table. 

"I made you tea," he said, his voice nearly at a whisper. 

Stephen looked up and eyed the tray briefly. 

"I'm not hungry."

"I know," Wong nodded. "Just take your time." 

As Stephen placed his head back in his hands, Wong turned around to exit. Once again, before leaving completely, he gave Stephen a parting message. 

"We're gonna get better. I promise."

He knew Stephen didn't believe him, and even if he didn't know, the lack of response was evidence enough. But Wong didn't get annoyed. He didn't sigh, nor did he snap. He just took the silence and proceeded to the door. 

"I love you."

He didn't hear an "I love you too" as he left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I've got more chapters headed your way, so be on the lookout :D


	3. maybe we could make it up to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a week of despondence, Stephen attends an Avengers' potluck, much to Wong's dismay.

For one straight week, Stephen did nothing but sleep and contemplate his existence. 

Wong assured him that any inter-dimensional conflict would be dealt with in his absence. After 2 full days of worrying and being asked to relax for once, Stephen finally shut off his brain and tried to recuperate. He still slept in, and he still felt like utter shit, but at least he didn't feel like writhing in pain. 

The days were long and quiet for him. Wong would check in on him every day, but they would rarely have conversations, mainly because in all honesty, Stephen didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. Especially not to his lover. 

His mind kept racing with voices. Was he mad that Wong read his journal? It should've infuriated him, but for some reason, he couldn't be mad. He knew he didn't mean any harm from it. He'd never want to hurt him. And besides, it was probably for the best that he found out about his...thoughts before it was too late. 

Wong was there to bring him tea and the such, but even after years of intimacy and unconditional love, there was always an awkward tension whenever he entered the room. One time, he tried doing a healing ritual for Stephen that involved intimacy as simple as hand-holding. 

They couldn't even manage to do that. 

So, without any socialization, or any desire for socialization, Stephen just stayed on his couch thinking about life. He thought about what would've happened had he succeeded in drowning himself. He imagined Wong dressed in black robes, despondent, walking the empty halls of a lonely Sanctum. He imagined Christine weeping for him. Or maybe she'd be indifferent. Who knows-- they haven't talked in awhile. 

He'd keep himself awake at night, wondering what would've happened if he was just...happy? Like, what if he could snap his fingers and feel fine? What if it was that simple? People would like him more. _He_ would like himself more. He was the Sorcerer Supreme, maybe he could drink some elixir that could turn off any negative emotions. But he had a feeling that would just do more harm than good. And he didn't need to do anymore harm at the moment. 

Every day, he woke up at precisely 11 AM to the sound of his dreaded ringtone. He'd grab his phone, peer at the CALL INCOMING message, then reject it without any hesitation. It wasn't like he felt good about it, but he wasn't in the correct state of mind to be talking to anyone right now. 

Exactly two weeks after he was discharged, however, he received a call 2 hours earlier than usual. 

Stephen was originally gonna just answer and tell her that he's a lost cause, but when he looked at the contact, he was surprised to see Captain America's name glowing at the top of his screen. In his shock, he couldn't even answer. 

It went to voicemail: 

_"Hi, Doctor Strange. This is Steve Rogers speaking...uh, obviously. I wanted to check in on you, see if you were doing okay, all of that. You don't have to respond if you don't want to, I just wanted to let you know that we're going to be having a potluck next weekend. Of course, if you're still injured, I'd want nothing more than for you to get better. But if you do happen to come, just let me know. Have a good day."_

He sat, staring at his phone in frozen shock. He thought he activated the Time Stone by accident. Was he really being invited to another social gathering? Really? 

He had to deny it. He had to. He could see it now-- him walking into the Avengers HQ, with all eyes darting onto him. Stephen Strange; the man that tried to drown himself. 

Maybe he was being overdramatic. Maybe everyone considered it an accident. But either way, he wasn't in any shape to attend even if he wanted to. So, with a deep breath, Stephen dialed back. A few rings went by with no response, and soon it went to voicemail. 

"Hi, Rogers," he began. "This is Stephen Strange speaking, well, obviously."

He hesitated. Why did he hesitate? He had no good explanation. His heart was pounding. His hands were moist. He needed to turn the invitation down, that's what his brain was telling him. But unfortunately, his mouth didn't obey. 

"I'd love to come." 

And then he hung up. 

* * *

"A potluck?" Wong asked. Stephen had managed to drag himself to his feet to approach him and bring him the news. He had to admit, he was proud of himself for initiating the conversation this time...even if it was over something as trivial as an office potluck. "Really?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, Steve Rogers invited me." 

Wong was standing in the kitchen, fidgeting with the spice canisters within the cabinet when Stephen approached him. He stirred in silence for a while as he thought about the situation. But just by looking at his face, Stephen knew that he didn't want him to go. 

Granted, he didn't really want to go himself, but he had to make dues at some point. He already ruined the last get together, he didn't need to rub salt in the wound by ghosting them. 

"Are you sure you want to go?" Wong asked, just as Stephen predicted. "You're still--"

"I'm not weak, Wong, I can stand up perfectly fine on my own," he blurted out, almost on the edge of snapping. He realized his abrasive tone afterwards and tried to regain his composure. "Besides, it would be polite for me to join them after...what happened last time." 

Wong looked him in the eye. 

"You can't blame yourself for what happened."

"It was literally my fault," Stephen replied, accompanied by a light chuckle. "I mean, it wasn't like anyone pushed me in, you know." 

He was looking for some sort of reaction from Wong, but he just replied with a meaningful glare. He knew what the glare meant. He wasn't being funny, and he knew it. Before he could apologize, Wong tenderly grabbed his hands. 

"You don't have to go if you don't feel up to it," he said softly. That was the thing about him-- he always knew when his voice had to be soft. He knew when he needed to be caring, even if Stephen denied it. 

And like always, Stephen denied it. He didn't dismiss him immediately, though. He just stood there, gazing into his eyes, letting his scarred hands settle into his soft ones. 

Settle. That was an odd word for him. In all his years as a doctor, he never thought about settling down. He'd be too paranoid with a family, constantly trying to keep them safe and sheltered or whatnot. He treated Christine like a fling, and that led to nearly unfixable damage. But Wong was different. He was someone who he could, potentially, hypothetically, settle with. He didn't know how to explain it, but he always felt...secure with Wong. 

He knew. He always knew what was best for him, what he was feeling, what he needed, etc. He was perfect. And yet, Stephen couldn't help but push him away. 

"I'm good," he muttered, pulling away. He slipped out of his thoughts and returned to the present. "I'm okay."

Wong eyed him, understandably not believing a word he said. But it wasn't like arguing with him would change anything. So he just bit his tongue and went back to his business.

"Alright." 

Stephen watched him momentarily, as if waiting for him to change his mind. He eventually turned his back on him and left him alone. 

In all reality, Stephen didn't want to settle with Wong. Not because he felt like their family would be unsafe or destructive, anything but that. 

He just thought Wong could do exceptionally better. 

* * *

"Stephen Strange, the man of the hour!" 

One week later, Stephen entered the Avengers HQ with a potted plant in his hands. He was hoping to enter quietly, talk to Steve Rogers and the such about his absence for the past few weeks, and leave without a trace. But that plan was shattered the moment he opened the door and saw Peter Quill in the entrance, who proceeded to announce his presence to the rest of the world. 

"Hello, Quill," Stephen greeted, attempting to shuffle to the side of him. He had no interest in participating in any conversation that would last 10 minutes. Once he stepped foot into the lobby, though, he immediately felt like he was drowning in commotion. 

The lobby wasn't chaotic, but it felt much more crowded than the picnic. There were more people than he expected, to the point that it felt less like a casual get-together and more like a gala. There were lots of people he knew, but for every hero he's talked to, there were at least 2 who he's never seen before. 

"It's great to see you back on your feet," Quill's voice asserted behind him. The spaceman patted him roughly on the back. "It's been pretty barren here ever since you've stopped coming."

For some reason, Stephen seriously doubted that. And didn't Quill live in a spaceship? 

"We've missed you, buddy. Welcome back!" 

Stephen tried, again, to step away from him so he could just deliver the plant and go home. 

"Uh, well, you can't really 'welcome' me back. I'm just here for the potluck," Stephen tried to joke, chuckling awkwardly. Before Quill could open his mouth one more time, he hurried into the crowds to try and find Steve Rogers. 

He'd been in the HQ before, of course, but it was hard to navigate through the crowds, the food, and the conversations. This was the first interaction he'd have outside of the house for two entire weeks. What a great way to reenter society. 

He couldn't focus with all the voices around him, having their own private discussions. All of their words were crowding his head. It was probably just him, but he felt like all of them were growing and louder and louder by the moment. 

Before he knew it, Steve Rogers was the one approaching him. 

"Doctor Strange. It's good to see you again," Steve's calm voice made the words in Stephen's head dissipate. Stephen looked up at him, trying to ground himself back into reality. "I see you're looking better than ever."

'Better than ever' was a bit of an overstatement. But Stephen just smiled and nodded. 

"Yep. Better than ever," He said, plastering a smile onto his face. Steve didn't respond-- he just glanced at the house plant in his hands. "Oh, uh, I brought you...a peace lily. I didn't know what to get, so I thought I'd bring you something to...spruce up the place." 

He handed the plant to Steve, who glanced at it one more time before taking it. 

"Wow...thanks," he said. He was at a loss of words. Not in a good way, though. It was in a way that made Stephen self-conscious. 

"I'm sorry about the picnic," Stephen said, breaking the silence. 

Steve gave him a smirk and a pat on the shoulder in response. Everyone was so touchy here. "You don't have to apologize. We're just glad you're alive."

That sentence speared his heart. Stephen figured he should just leave now while he still could. 

"Well, have a nice day," he said. "And of course, feel free to call me whenever I'm needed."

"Leaving so soon?" Steve asked. 

The question stopped Stephen in his tracks. A wave of guilt washed over him as Steve beckoned him with a welcoming hand. It would've been shitty to just give him a stupid plant and leave. So he stayed. He walked back to the Captain and gave him the brightest, fakest smile he could muster. 

"I guess I could stay," he said, trying his best to sound sincerely upbeat. 

"That's the spirit," Steve told him. "Relax. Make small talk. Enjoy yourself."

Stephen was hoping he would be able to follow him for the rest of the potluck, but before he knew it, Steve had left with the lily in his hands. Which meant Stephen was left to his own devices in the sea of strangers. 

He took one step forward into the crowd, trying to find someone that he knew. He navigated through the crowds, trying to loosen up as best as he could, but everything was just so...loud. Overwhelming. Claustrophobic. He found himself focusing less on the food and his friends and more on getting away from them. 

He walked to the wall, distancing himself away from the rest of the people. It was weird to feel so welcomed, yet so outcast at the same time. Out of everyone in the room, he only knew about 1/3 of them. He wasn't up to socializing anyway, so that crossed out talking to people. He wasn't hungry either, so that crossed out eating. 

So it would just be him hugging the wall for the rest of the day. Great. 

"Doctor Strange? Are you doing okay?" 

He looked at Scott Lang, who was now standing beside him, biting into an apple. 

"O-Of course I am!" Stephen lied without a moment's notice. He tried to cover up his anxiety by looking casual. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Scott eyed him with a worried expression. 

"You look a bit overwhelmed," he showed him the apple. "There's some fruit on the other side of the--" 

"No, I'm okay!" he quickly walked away from him. "No need to worry about me." 

He could already see the confused look on his face as he disappeared into the crowd. Enough of that-- he didn't need to make Scott uncomfortable. He didn't need to make anyone uncomfortable. He just had to leave and stay in the Sanctum for the rest of the day. 

He delivered his plant and made up for the picnic, that was that. There was no reason why he had to stay in the HQ. 

He strolled through the lobby, looking out for Steve or Quill or anyone that seemed inclined to keep him there. As long as there were no other distractions headed his way, he'd be free to le-- 

"Hey."

God _dammit._ What now? 

He turned around, hoping it was just someone wishing to tell him goodbye, and was suddenly face to face with Tony goddamn Stark. Great. Oh just-- great, great, great. Perfect. 

Fucking. Wonderful.

"Don't listen to anything Cap says," Tony told him, his stupidly smug eyes peering over his tacky sunglasses. They had only met a couple times, but they've always gotten off the wrong foot. "You're better off by yourself."

What the hell was he talking about? 

Stephen didn't have any more patience. He glared at him with contempt, not amused that he was basically telling him that he should just stay away from them. Well, then again Stephen wasn't too keen on hanging out with them right now either, but he had a feeling Tony didn't care about his well-being. 

"What do you mean by that?" He asked. 

Tony barely reacted to him. He just stared at him, shoulders relaxed, and took another swig of his martini. "I mean you shouldn't think he's trying to invite you here. You don't need to be in our crowd if you don't want to. Go home. You obviously don't want to stay." 

The worst part about that sentence was that he was right. Stephen didn't want to stay. But he didn't want to be kicked out by a haughty bigshot either. So he didn't respond. He just walked past him, towards the table of food, and tried to ignore him as he shrugged and said one last thing. 

"It's your funeral, man." 

Even when he wasn't trying to, his words always got under his skin. 

But he couldn't let him ruin his day. He was gonna ruin his own goddamn day. Gazing upon the groups of people around the HQ, he decided he'd try to mix in with them. Despite it going against what he initially wanted, he was going to enjoy his time there. Just to spite Tony Stark. 

Make small talk. Relax. Have fun. 

He made his way to the aisle of snacks and grabbed a paper plate. The options were overwhelming: potato, barbeque, sour cream, ranch, etc. Quill, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any trouble making a decision as he was right next to Stephen and was piling barbeque chips onto his plate. Because, from what he remembered, he thought barbecue chips "slapped." 

"This is...some effort for a potluck, huh?" Stephen asked him with a faint chuckle. He grabbed the tongs and started adding a few plain potato chips to his plate. 

Quill turned to him and grinned. "Well yeah, we wanted to make sure you had fun."

Stephen dropped the tongs. 

"...You wanted to make sure _I_ had fun?" 

Quill nodded, not even turning to look at him. 

"You missed the picnic, so we wanted to make it up to you."

Then he dropped his plate. 

That sentence hit him like a bus. He just stood there, staring at his dropped food, paralyzed. Steve Rogers set up this entire get-together just for him. And he was thinking of not even going. 

When he looked up, he noticed all eyes were on him. Quill approached him, ready to help him clean up the chips, but Stephen stuck his hand up to stop him. He looked around the HQ, noticing every single person in the room suddenly go quiet. 

"Did you guys host this potluck to make up for the picnic?"

No one said anything. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he could see a few people sheepishly nodding their heads. 

Stephen tensed up. He looked at the rows of tables and food once again. His stomach felt queasy just thinking about it. 

"Well, what would you have done if I didn't want to come?" 

"Probably waste a bunch of food," he heard Tony mutter. 

"Tony!" Steve snapped back. 

Stephen didn't know what to say. He didn't like huge get-togethers. He didn't care about parties. He'd liked the picnic cause it was casual and wasn't a big deal. But now, he's at a potluck where the main focus was on him the entire time. 

"I...can't believe this." 

He walked out of the lobby, anxiety churning in his chest. 

"Stephen! Stephen, wait!' 

He didn't look back. He focused on getting out of the building as soon as possible. He could feel himself panicking more and more by the minute. Was he being ungrateful? Was he being selfish? His...friends were just trying to show him that they cared about him. If anything, they should be the ones offended 

But then again, he never said he wanted a whole get-together. He never said he wanted anything. He still felt tired all the time. 

He knew one thing for sure-- he hated himself. He hated himself when he felt bad. He hated himself when he felt good. And being a part of an event where he was the main focus just made him think about himself even more, which made him think about his brain even more and how screwed up it was. He didn't want to be pitied, yet he was always pitying himself. He wanted to show people that he cared about them, yet he walked out of a potluck they planned for him. 

What was wrong with him? 

He was outside the HQ, ready to make his way back to the Sanctum, when he heard someone walk behind him. 

"Doctor Strange, I'm sorry about what happened."

Stephen turned around to look at Steve. He genuinely seemed apologetic, he could say that much. Instead of just turning back to leave without another word, he stayed in place. Maybe 

"We just noticed that you must've felt down about...what happened. So we wanted to help you feel better." 

And for some reason Stephen couldn't explain, that was the line that broke him. 

This whole gesture was to just make him feel better. This big, grand potluck was just a way to make him happy. But, as selfish as it may sound, he didn't want it. He didn't like big, grand gifts or surprises. If Steve wanted to know if he was feeling better, he could've just asked him. 

Stephen stepped back, anxiety pushing through his chest. Steve walked toward him, but he tensed up quickly. He didn't know what to say. He felt a whole plethora of emotions washing over him in this moment. So he said the first thing that came to mind. 

"I've been planning on killing myself for a long time now," he revealed. Steve's expression flickered into one of terror. "That's why I fell into the water. And even now, I don't feel any better. You didn't have to go through all this trouble for me." 

He could hear his voice wavering. He said too much. He shouldn't have said anything. He should've just thanked him for the party and walked away. Why the hell did he decide to burden him with this? 

He always did this. Why did he always have to do this? Just when he thought he was getting better? 

"Doctor Strange..."

Stephen turned away and started to walk away. But after taking two steps forward, he looked over his shoulder. 

"Thank you for the banquet." 

And he continued to the Sanctum. He didn't look behind him for the rest of his walk. 

He wasn't even that hungry anyway. 

* * *

The next morning, Stephen woke up to a horrifying text message. 

_Hi, Stephen. This is Steve Rogers. Obviously._

_We're holding a meeting tomorrow at 3 PM._

_We'd love for you to come._

He could've puked right then and there. He read the text again, repeatedly, hoping this was all just some kind of illusion. A goddamn meeting. How vague was that! What the hell was this "meeting" supposed to be?

With quivering fingers, he typed out a response. 

_I'll see you there._

Send. 

  
  



	4. pull yourself together as best as you can (lest you fall)

With an exhausted groan, Stephen fell against the wall of the bathroom in the Avengers' HQ. 

He spent the past 10 minutes vomiting his guts out as he dreaded the upcoming meeting. Just the thought of hearing Steve's voice gave him a migraine. 

Steve didn't give him any details on the "meeting", but Stephen had an idea on what it was really about. And he didn't want to be there, in the meeting room, talking about his thoughts or experiences or fears. It was a tedious process-- whenever he sought therapy, he'd just end up reverting back to his old ways. What was the point? 

But still, he didn't have the heart to decline. First he made everyone worry about him at the picnic, then he caused a scene at the potluck, so at the very least he could be civil and attend whatever was headed his way. No matter how nauseous it made him feel. 

He leaned over and retched one more time. He felt the Cloak brush against his eyes, wiping away his tears. It suddenly occurred to him that this was probably the first time in literal weeks where he arrived in his professional garbs. Maybe it would help if he tried to act professional as well. 

The Cloak wrapped itself around his torso comfortingly. Its collar pressed against Stephen's cheek, giving him a nervous budge. 

"Believe me," he croaked, slightly raising his head. "I don't want to be here anymore than you do." 

He watched the Cloak's collar wilt into his neck. Smiling sadly, he tenderly patted the fabric and forced himself off the ground. The toilet flushed behind him as he took a deep, pained breath and walked to the sink. He rinsed his hands under the lukewarm water, making sure not to scorch them. Staring down at his hands, he took in each and every single scar. 

Raising his head, he made eye contact with his reflection. The bags under his eyes were growing everyday.

The Cloak patted him on the shoulder, then pointed to the door. Stephen turned to it and sighed. 

Time to face the music. 

Delicately drying his hands, Stephen walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway. To his surprise, Steve was already waiting for him. 

"Ahh, there you are," he beamed, showing off his ever present smile. "Are you ready for the meeting?"

Stephen considered going back for one last puke session, but he just swallowed everything down and nodded with a blithering fake smile. 

"Fantastic," Steve couldn't see through his disguise. Stephen didn't know if that was good or not. Before he could say anything, Steve wrapped his arm around Stephen's shoulders and began walking. "How about I show you the way to the meeting room, then?" 

Disagreeing would be rude, he thought, so he just went with it. Following Steve down the sleek, endless corridor, Stephen began to think about all the probing questions he'd be faced with soon. When did it start? Why did you do it? How do you feel? 

His legs grew weaker the longer they walked. He had to lean towards the wall to support himself, though he could feel the Cloak trying to keep him upright. Steve didn't notice anything. He just kept walking, and walking, and walking, until they finally reached their destination. 

Stephen looked at the plain, metal door that concealed what would become a psychiatric center. Once he walked in, the questions would come flying at him whether he liked it or not. 

Steve turned his head to peer at the sorcerer. "So?" He asked, looking at the door. "Are you ready to come in?" 

He turned to Steve, swallowing yet again, and just smiled. Steve bowed his head and went to open the door. 

When the door creaked open, Stephen took a quick look to see where he'd been spending the next hours. He expected a brown cushioned sofa, placed in front of a fancy looking chair, sitting in an otherwise drab looking room. Or maybe it'd be a blunt hospital interior, filled with smooth, hard benches within a room with glass walls so anyone could see. Either way, he wasn't looking forward to any of it. 

But much to his surprise, it looked like...a normal meeting room. Filled with tech, notebooks, and some water bottles. Huh. Maybe this would be an okay day after all. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. 

Stepping into the meeting room, he was met with a roundtable of heroes all looking directly at him. In addition to Steve, he saw Peter Quill (looking as chipper as ever), Scott Lang (trying his best to look both supportive and stoic at the same time), and...Tony Stark. Wearing a haughty expression, as per usual. 

The ensemble made him uncomfortable, to say the least, but it at least granted him some hope that this would be an actual meeting. You know, as opposed to an AA meeting or some shit. 

Steve led him to a seat in-between him and Tony. He sat down, trying to get comfortable while trying to ignore the fact that Tony was sitting next to him, staring him down. 

"So, folks," he greeted, briefly waving his hand at everyone. "What's the mission?"

Everyone stared at him awkwardly. 

"Mission?" Tony asked with a snicker. "There's no mission today. Cap just called us all in to...support you."

To support him...shit. He recognized that language. He's been through this set up before. Squirming in his chair, Stephen's eyes began to dart all around the room, which seemed to be closing in on him by the second. 

Tony folded his hands onto the table with a sickening smarmy grin. He leaned into Stephen's ear. 

"You really thought this was a mission debriefing, huh? No, you're here for a rejuvenation circle," he whispered, almost like a warning. "You can still get out before it's too--" 

"Tony, I think that's enough," Steve broke his sentence, motioning towards him to be quiet. Tony sat back in his seat, giving Stephen a momentary glance before looking at Steve. The Captain looked at Stephen and smiled warmly. "Welcome, Stephen. Now, this is a safe space, so anything you stay in here will remain here." 

His theories were correct. Of all the times for him to be correct, why did it have to be now? 

Great. Wonderful. He was having a therapy session with Captain fucking America. 

He shuffled in his chair, feeling all eyes on him. He waved again, this time not accompanied with a smile. 

"H-Hello, everybody," he repeated, feeling a disgusting sense of deja vu. "My name is Stephen Strange. And, recently, I've tried to commit suicide." 

"It's not an AA meeting," Tony whispered under his breath. 

The Cloak raised a corner at Tony, seemingly trying to threaten him. Stephen patted the Cloak soothingly, letting the comment slide for now. It was the least of his concerns right now. Everyone was waiting for him to recount the moment his entire life changed for better or for worse. 

He placed one shaking hand over the other, trying to keep his breath steady as he thought about what to say. The Cloak set a corner onto his hands, rubbing them gently to calm him down. He kept looking at each person in the room, their faces holding various levels of supportiveness. 

Swallowing, he started to talk. 

"It started in high school. I lost somebody close to me, so I turned to medicine, and then I broke my hands, and, well, here I am."

He huffed, pursing his lips together while anticipating their reactions. The table's expressions were indiscernible. Were they trying to remain blank out of support? Or did they genuinely have no idea how to react? 

There was one person that was looking at him with a non-vacant stare, however. And of course, just his luck, it happened to be Tony Stark. The man next to him was looking at him with pure and utter confusion. Stephen braced himself for his inevitable questions. 

"That's it?" Tony asked. Just as Stephen suspected. "That can't be it, Come on, tell us who it was." 

He didn't respond, nor did he flinch when Tony suddenly got up from his seat and walked behind him. 

"Was it a girlfriend?" He asked, trying to pester him into telling. "Boyfriend? An ex? A grandparent?" 

Stephen kept his lips pursed and looked down. Oddly enough, it was the most comfortable he had felt all day. At least Tony was treating him...well, as usual, as opposed to pretending he was his therapist. Still didn't make things better, though. 

"Tony, that's enough," Steve said firmly. But of course, his command fell on deaf ears, as Tony just continued to rant in his face. 

"I mean, I lost  _ both _ of my parents, and here I am!"

"You were  _ 18, _ " Stephen snapped, trying to stay calm. 

"Yeah," Tony responded with a chuckle. "I was barely an adult, and suddenly I was an orphan!" 

"You were sitting on piles of money, and even now you're barely an adult," Stephen shot back, trying not to yell in his face. Of course, he knew he didn't have any chance at shutting up Iron Man himself, but he couldn't just sit there and take his bullshit. 

"Guys--" Steve, ever the facilitator, tried to get them to calm down by walking in between them and putting his hands in their faces. However, his hands weren't soundproof, so it wasn't like either of them backed down from their argument. 

"Oh, like you're such a model of maturity yourself, Mr. Bigshot--" Stephen was on the verge of yelling at this point. His patience was wearing thin and he was trying to retain his composure as best as he could. 

"Guys, calm down--" Scott joined Steve in trying to get both of them to back down, but his efforts were in vain. 

"And if I'm not mistaken, the reason I'm an orphan is because of  _ your _ little assassin buddy Cap--" 

"That's ENOUGH," Steve barked, finally shutting the two of them up. "Both of you."

Shooting a glare at Tony, he watched as the man stepped away from Stephen's chair. Stephen dropped his head onto the table, already exhausted from the argument. Steve clicked his tongue and shook his head. 

"Tony, if he doesn't want to tell us who he lost, that's perfectly oka--"

"It was my  _ sister _ ." 

All eyes were on him now. A dreaded silence trampled onto the group like a blanket of snow. Slowly lifting his head, Stephen struggled to find the strength to share the horrid memory to the table. 

"She was 12 years old. I was 17," he started. "I-- watched her drown. And I couldn't save her. And my parents kept telling me it wasn't my fault, but I was there. I was at the lake, I could've saved her!" 

A sad chuckle escaped him. Then, another chuckle. Then another, and another, and another, and soon he was swept away in a sea of depressed laughter. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed that hard. 

The rest of the heroes watched him in stunned, helpless terror. 

"But I just watched-- and watched as she flailed in the water!" His laughing fit almost devolved into tears. Through painful gasps, he fought to regain his composure. He slammed his arm onto the table, letting his head fall into his hand. The Cloak rushed to his hand, trying to soothe any pain that was rising. 

"So I turned to medicine. I wanted to make sure no one would die on my watch ever again. I didn't care about other people-- relationships were tiring," he looked down, watching as tears ran down his face and fell onto his robes. "If I had friends, and then they would suddenly die right before my eyes, then I'd be here! A depressed sack of shit rambling to some random people about my suicidal tendencies!" 

He breathed heavily, swallowing down bile he found rushing through his throat. He eyed the bin in the corner of the room, taking note of it. Dazedly collecting everyone's faces, he realized, for once, no one knew what to say. 

"Is that what you wanted?!" he screamed, slamming his fists onto the table. Pain surged through his fingers, setting his hands on fire. But he couldn't care less. He felt soft fabric seep into his burning hands, trying to relieve the pain.. Every single person in the room flinched at his words-- even Tony. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Well, congratulations." 

He crumbled in his chair, trying his hardest to stop the tears seeping through his eyes. The Cloak rubbed his shoulder, trying to comfort him as best as it could. But it didn't work. He felt weak, plain and simple. It happened so many years ago that it should've been all but a faint memory. Every time, he kept going. College, neurosurgery, sorcery, no matter what, he got back up. But for some reason, no matter how much he wanted to forget, it always ended up back where he started: a hopeless piece of shit. 

Steve sat back in his chair, looking at Stephen with compassion. 

"Stephen...th-thank you for opening up. We see you, we hear you, and we want you to know that suicide is not the ans--"

"Oh my god!" Tony threw his hands in the air. "Look, Steve, I love you-- you're amazing-- but can you please shut up for 10 seconds? Do you think he doesn't know that? If he thought suicide was the answer, we'd be dressed in black, attending some wizard funeral right now."

"Tony, please--"

"Suicide isn't the answer, Steve," a condescending grin slithered onto his face. He grabbed inside his jacket and pulled out a flask, proudly lifting it above his head. " _ Alcohol _ is!"

"Mr. Stark!" 

Oh boy. He brought out the Captain voice. That was  _ sure _ to get Tony to settle down now. 

"I mean, I've been an alcoholic for years, and I'm just  _ dandy _ ." 

"If you want to know," Stephen said timidly. A tug on his shoulders let him know the Cloak was close to beating him up. "I dabbled in alcoholism for a few years, and then I became a sorcerer."

"Oh hey, maybe I should do that, go to some magic rehab to sober up," he glared at Stephen. "Sounds fun." 

"Guys, guys, hey!" For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, Quill spoke. "How about we all calm down, relax, and listen to some music?"

"I-I second the music--" Scott raised his hand. 

"Can I just ask, why are both of you here?" Stephen asked. He didn't mean for it to sound rude, but his patience was plummeting to the center of the Earth at this point. "You two have been strangely quiet."

"Cap told them it'd be a group therapy session," Tony said without missing a beat. Stephen glared daggers at him, but for once he wasn't just making a snarky comment. "That's what he told me!" 

Quill looked offended at his words. Stephen would say he relates, but it just didn't matter to him at this point. He just wanted to go home. 

"I was here for moral support, because I wanted to support Doctor Strange," Quill said, gesturing to Stephen as if he weren't in the room. He got out of his seat and stuck a finger into Tony's chest. "That's what a hero does." 

"This isn't support. This--" he motioned around the room, "--is love bombing. Think about it-- did we ask Stephen if he wanted to talk to us, or did we drag him in here, kicking and screaming? None of you did this because you cared about him-- you did it so he would like you."

"That's not true!" He placed a hand on Stephen's shoulder and shook him playfully. "Stephen already likes us, right?"

Tony smacked his arm. "Quill, not now--"

"Please, don't touch me," with a wavering voice, Stephen placed a shaky hand on Quill's and picked it off his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I never brought this up before, but I kinda don't like to be...touched by people I'm not that close to."

Quill didn't seem to get the hint. "I just wanted to let you know if you liked me--"

"I do, believe me."

"You do come across as a little too touchy-feely sometimes," Tony chimed in. 

"Well, you just spent an entire therapy session lying about wanting to help Stephen-- how do I know anyone here is telling the truth?" 

Tony scoffed at him. "Oh my god, you try to be so goddamn funny sometimes, but you can be insufferable. You don't come across as suave, or cool, or sexy-- you're just immature." 

Just like that, Quill's smile faded. The closest thing to light in a dark spot completely vanished. He crossed his arms, as if wanting to challenge Tony.

"Well you know what, if we all want to be 'mature', how about I tell you all about my dead parents too?" he asked, voice booming in the room. "Since we're apparently turning this into the Dead Parents Club, my mom  _ died _ , my dad killed her, and then my dad  _ and _ my adopted dad died too! And I liked them, all of them, but did they really like me? Who knows, they're dead now!"

Tony was at a loss for words. Quill stared at him blankly, awaiting a response. Steve got out of his seat and tried to facilitate them, just like before. In the middle of it all, Stephen was holding his head in his quivering hands, wishing for the world to disappear. 

"I'm sorry," Tony said at last. "I didn't know any of that." 

Quill supplied him with a bitter chuckle. "It never popped up in conversation." 

As tension lingered in the air, Scott slipped out of his seat and gently kneeled down next to Stephen.

"Are you okay?" He asked, speaking with a tone one would use when talking to a child. 

Stephen could do nothing but shake his head. He screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into his skull, just wishing for everything to stop, stop,  _ stop _ ...

Scott looked at the bickering trio. "Guys-"

"Lang, it's your turn," Tony snarked. "C'mon, spill the beans, we all have secrets around here. Might as well get them out now. 

Scott shook his head, refusing to be part of the problem. "I think we should all just calm down and remember why we're h--."

"Nope. Show's over. This started out as a Jackoff Session for Cap, now it's just a pity party. So go, talk about your feelings, let it all go! Join the club!" 

Today was already an emotional hurricane for everyone in the room, but this was somehow the last straw. Possessed by some sort of malicious energy, he abandoned Stephen and fell with the rest of the group.

"Fine-- I'm terrified of Hope leaving me like Maggie did, alright?!" Scott said, taking Tony aback for a moment. "I'm terrified of being a terrible dad. I'm terrified of dying on the job a-and leaving Cassie all alone. Or Hope dying on the job when I could've saved her, OKAY?! Is this what you guys wanted?!" 

Stephen could hear Scott's heavy breathing from behind him. This was one of the worst things he's ever been a part of-- whose idea was it to trap five heroes in a room with an intoxicating air of rage? 

"Buddy, I've had experience with terrible dads, and you're definitely not one of them," Quill's discernible voice brought some much needed levity to the conversation. Unfortunately, that was the only levity that entered the room, before being taken over by a smog of tense speechlessness. 

Stephen took it upon himself to break that silence. 

"Quill, you are not immature all the time," He said, looking up at him. "You have fantastic taste in music, and even though you can't save everyone, you make a lot of people's lives genuinely happier. And Scott," he turned to face him, "I can assure you that your anxieties are reasonable, but false. You make a great father and romantic partner, and you're responsible enough to keep yourself alive during battle. So please...both of you...just stop talking." 

He went back to cradling his head in his hands, trying desperately to block out the world. His head was pounding so hard that even the simple squeaking of his chair was enough to instigate an excruciating migraine. 

"Well," Tony muttered. "I think this group therapy shit turned out pretty good. Stephen-- do you want to say anything else?" 

Stephen held back a shriek. Calmly, he raised his head with an enigmatic stare.

"I don't know," he rasped, emotionless. He placed his head back on the table. "Why don't you yell at me again? You love doing that."

"Tony, what are you getting out of this?" Steve asked. 

"Hmm, I don't know," he said, walking over to Steve. "I just find it insensitive that you held this entire group therapy session  _ just _ to try and ask him to become an Avenger." 

The room went deathly silent. That single sentence pierced Stephen's heart. In an instant, all his panic withered away and was replaced by an indiscernible, yet just as passionate emotion. 

He peered up from the table, looking Tony in the eye. 

"What?" 

Tony hesitated to respond-- a rarity for him. He stared at Stephen with no smirk, no smile, and no witty thoughts running through his mind. Just an expression of pure, utter disappointment. He nodded. 

"He told me," Tony huffed, voice devoid of any snark. He glared at Steve. "Right after he left, he told me that he  _ needed _ to hold a meeting for you. But did he really invite you here? Or did he command you to come? He's had his eye on you for weeks, so when he saw you in your time of need, he decided to swoop in to make you happy and recruit you onto the team. Two birds with one stone!" 

"That's a lie--"

"You don't care about any of us, do you Cap?"

"Hold on, I joined this team to--"

"Here's the playlist, can we all--" 

It all dissolved into noisy, pointless bickering. Each voice was piling onto the other, the mess of words growing into a murderous cacophony that threatened to strangle Stephen if it continued for any longer. His chest was tightening by the second, words climbing up his throat only to be swallowed down. Everything just kept on overloading his brain. 

It felt like he was dying. He was drowning...goddammit, he was drowning he was drowning  _ he was drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning--  _

"WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP FOR  _ 10 SECONDS?!" _

Shooting up from his chair and yelling at everyone finally made them remember what this meeting was about: trying to "help" Stephen. But here he was, being forced to get everyone to shut up so he can get one--  _ one _ \-- moment of silence. But even then, the tears had returned to his eyes. 

Nausea overcame him. He couldn't swallow any longer. He placed the back of his hand to his mouth, hastily motioning for the Cloak to grab a bin. Luckily, the Cloak was way ahead of him, having already gone for the bin once he yelled. It brought it under his chin right in time. 

So here he was, vomiting in front of his (so-called) friends. He felt like a child. He just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and pretend today didn't happen. 

When the Cloak finally placed the bin on the floor, Stephen brushed his sleeve across his mouth and slowly turned around and took a nice, good look at the band of heroes. He was  _ done _ with today. 

" _ None _ of us are therapists. All we're doing is screaming at each other. Are any of you adults? Because right now, it feels like I'm sitting in a room full of self-obsessed teenagers. And guess what? I don't feel any goddamn better! I just feel nauseous, an-and shitty, and exhausted from watching everyone scream at each other!" 

Swaying in place, he had to clutch the table to keep himself from toppling over. The Cloak helped him maintain his footing, but even when he almost fell to his knees, he kept staring each and every hero down. 

"I know I have no way of knowing if you all did this because you actually cared about me, or if you really just wanted to recruit me," he pointed at them. "But I don't appreciate you using my feelings just to fuel your own misery. I'm not joining your damn club. Now, if you excuse me gentlemen, I'm going home." 

He swayed some more, breathing heavily with exhaustion. For a moment, he thought he was about to pass out right then and there, until the Cloak guided him toward the exit. His eyes dropped from pure tiredness as he fell behind his heels and into the soft fabric. The last image his teammates saw as he disappeared was his skinny, sunken body floating away. 

If they hadn't known any better, they would've sworn they'd seen a ghost. 

Quiet filled the room for several seconds. Scott looked at Quill, who stared at Tony, who shot a glare at Steve, whose eyes were still lingering on the doorway where the ghost had fled. All of them felt disillusioned-- none of them had gotten what they wanted, and none of them were happy. None of them even knew what to say. 

Each of them felt some sort of shame, and in this moment, they wondered if the others had felt it too. They had their own reflections on the meeting, with some citing a moment where they wish things had gone differently. Scott wished he would have deescalated things sooner. Quill wished he kept to himself more. Tony thought he should've walked out the doors right before it started. 

Steve's wish was different. If he could turn back time before he contacted everyone and brought Stephen to the meeting room, he would've made everything completely private. Maybe that would've made things better, or it would've made things worse. Who knows? But right now, he just wished he could be alone with Stephen to try and give him his deepest apologies. 

Eventually, Tony finally broke the claustrophobic tension with one simple sentence. 

"We really screwed the pooch on that one." 


	5. walking through oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve discuss the aftermath of their session. 
> 
> Wong makes a call.

10 minutes passed after Stephen's departure, and no one said a word. 

A tack dropped from a nearby table, filling the room with a brief echo before it fell back into tormenting silence. 

Steve Rogers was resting his forehead on his tented hands, contemplating the abhorrent team meeting that had just gone down. Across him, Quill was mindlessly fiddling with a cassette, bearing no particular feeling. He looked like a blank slate. Scott was pacing around the table, breathing shallowly. And Tony-- Tony was just watching them from afar, resting against the edge of a table as he took a couple swigs from his flask. 

Once he was done, he set the flask on the table. 

"Okay guys, this was fun," he declared, popping the lapels of his blazer. "I think we should all just go home, get some rest, and regroup tomorrow morning." 

"Tony, shut up." 

He turned his head to Steve. He was looking up at him, subtle rage flaring in his eyes. 

"Will it literally kill you to take other people's lives into consideration?" 

Tony's mouth went dry. He couldn't come up with a response to that. Steve got out of his seat and walked up to Tony. He towered over him, staring him down. For once, Tony was intimidated by him. 

"Why did you do that?" Steve asked, exasperation seeping in his voice. He didn't seem angry. He just looked very, very tired. "Why did you prod him?" 

Tony gave him a smug chuckle. "You could've worded that differently--" 

"Tony. I'm not playing anymore, I just want you to answer me," Steve huffed, shutting his eyes and placing a knuckle to his forehead. "Why are you so obsessed with fucking Stephen's life up?" 

"I'm not 'obsessed' with fucking Stephen over, okay?" Tony snapped back. "We just hate each other's guts. I mean, he's arrogant, he's flippant, he constantly thinks he's the smartest guy in the room-- and before you say it, yes I know what it sounds like. And it's true. I hate myself. You, of all people, would know that better than anyone." 

"I don't think you needed to go out of your way to isolate Stephen," Steve argued. "He is a sorcerer. You're an engineer. You both have completely different perspectives on power-- Stephen was a valuable asset." 

"First of all-- stop referring to him as an 'asset,'" Tony pointed a finger into his chest, spitting out his words like they were acid. "Second of all-- here's the difference between Stephen and I: Stephen is a lone wolf. He prefers working by himself. We should've just left him alone."

He knew he should've said that the first time Steve brought up the idea of adding Stephen onto the team. However, he was caught in his own thoughts during their first conversation. 

* * *

_ The first time Tony and Stephen met, it was during a mission. A mythical beast was attacking New York City, and after gaining info about a powerful magic user living near Greenwich Village, Steve contacted Doctor Strange.  _

_ Tony could tell that Stephen wasn't used to communicating to other teammates, but admittedly, he was a huge help to the team. He could identify the creature, an Imp of Destruction, almost immediately. Or at least, far quicker than if Steve and Tony tried to take it down by themselves.  _

_ When everything was said and done, the three of them returned to the HQ for the debriefing. Tony had prepared himself a victory drink (and his third drink of the day) while Steve was looking over information about the mission. Stephen, meanwhile, was mulling near the wall, peering around the room.  _

_ Tony could've just ignored him and waited for him to dismiss himself. He obviously looked uncomfortable in this situation, it wasn't like he was going to stay for long. But he couldn't help but feel...annoyed by his presence. He couldn't explain why, but he just seemed so...irritating.  _

_ So he decided to walk over to him and tried to strike up a conversation.  _

_ "Hey, newbie. You did pretty well on the battlefield there. I've been looking for some entertainment for Peter's birthday party." _

_ Stephen looked him up and down blankly. _

_ "I'm a sorcerer, not a magician," he explained. "But I appreciate the offer."  _

_ Tony couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.  _

_ "Are you sure? Because from the looks of it, you're just a wannabe David Copperfield," he replied with a smarmy smirk. "I've seen street magicians that can pull off better tricks than you." _

_ Stephen rolled his eyes. Guess he didn't have a sense of humor.  _

_ "Okay, look, I don't have time to be called childish insults, alright? It was a pleasure working with you, and I hope we can work again some other time," he bowed his head and turned around to walk away. But not without muttering something under his breath. "Nimrod."  _

_ Nimrod? So not only did he specialize in parlor tricks, he couldn't even come up with good comebacks.  _

_ Tony waved the half-assed insult off and made his way to Steve.  _

_ "That Doctor Strange sure is something, isn't he?" Steve said, smiling proudly. Tony crossed his arms. _

_ "Okay, loverboy, you can stop drooling over him now."  _

_ "I mean, his skills are basically unmatched," he beamed, stars practically shining in his eyes. "That magic shield of his gave us some good protection. His knowledge of the supernatural is proficient-- that's a really valuable trait."  _

_ "Yeah, yeah, he was a cool guest star and everything," Tony waved his hand to dismiss his elated comments. Why was he so excited about a shield? He...He already had a shield. "Can we just focus on the debrief--" _

_ "Maybe he should be an Avenger."  _

_ For a minute, Tony thought he was joking. He was about to burst out laughing, until he looked at Steve's face. Not a hint of joking. Wait, he was being serious? _

_ "...What?" _

_ "Yeah, he could be a core member," Steve said, not even looking at him anymore. "Portalling everywhere could give us the one-up..."  _

_ He listened to him listing off all the core reasons why Stephen should be a part of the team. But Tony couldn't give a single damn. He glanced at the exit, where the sorcerer disappeared, thinking about how uncomfortable he looked out of his element.  _

_ He didn't want to be an Avenger, plain and simple. He worked alone. Despite all that, he knew Steve would try to court him sooner or later. So he just stayed back and watched everything happen.  _

* * *

"...You never thought of him as a person," Tony concluded. "You only thought of him as a tool, didn't you?"

Steve pursed his lips together. Tony just continued glaring at him, expecting him to deflect away. Before he could counter, Steve opened his mouth. 

"You're right."

Tony's eyes widened. 

"I  _ was _ taking Stephen for granted. I thought he would be a beneficial ally to our team. I decided to try and help him just so I could get on his good side." 

Steve looked him in the eye. 

"But it's not like you're some kind of saint either. Using him to hurt yourself, knowing that you'd still be hurting him in the process. Do you think all those shitty insults did anything for his mental health?" 

Tony tried to think of a retort, but he couldn't think of anything. He had a point. For once, Tony had to admit that he was wrong. 

"It's not like anyone here is faultless," Tony mumbled.

The room filled with silence once again. After taking a swig from his flask, Tony snickered. 

"It's amazing," he said. "We created this whole shitty meeting to try and help Stephen, yet we used him to vent our own frustrations at each other."

"Well, what do we do now?" Scott asked. 

"What else?" Tony shrugged. "Apologize. Try to be better. Not force him to accept our help, but just let him know we're here for him. Who's with me?" 

Tony looked at Steve, who looked at Quill, who looked at Scott, who looked back at Tony. No one argued against him. 

"Good, good," he nodded with content. "We're all on the same page. I just have one question: Does anyone know where he is right now?"

Everyone looked away awkwardly. Steve rolled his eyes. 

"He lives at the Sanctum Sanctorum. 177A Bleecker Street," he said with a tired tone, knowing Tony hadn't listened to him the first time he told him. 

"Great! Let's go there right now. How about we fix him a fruit basket or something? Nothing too overbearing, just something nice." 

Tony went to exit the office, ready to make amends at last. However, before he could open the door, a portal opened in the middle of the room. Everyone watched as Stephen's closest friend, wearing his cloak, stepped out of the ring and approached Tony. 

"What happened at this meeting?" Wong asked, calmly. 

Tony blinked, confused by the sudden commotion. "I'm sorry, are you Stephen's--"

"Librarian, yes," he answered quickly. "But he's gone right now. He said he needed space. So I just want to ask: what happened at the meeting?" 

Tony and Steve glanced at each other, worried by his statement. 

"He's gone?"

Hesitantly, Wong nodded. He handed them a piece of paper that he had received only minutes earlier. 

"Here's his note," he said solemnly. Tony took the paper from his hand, the rest of the heroes crowding around him to read it. Stepping aside, he watched the four of them reading over the contents while he remembered how it all led up to this. 

* * *

For the past three weeks, Wong has been ripping himself apart with anxiety. 

Of course, Stephen was always safe and sound in his study. It wasn't like he was going to drop dead at any moment. Even if something happened, Wong would have the necessary spells already at his fingertips. But still, he worried. 

Every day was quiet. Stephen spent the hours cooped up in the study, fast asleep. Wong would only stop by to deliver drinks, food, and whatever he needed. But he didn't ask for much. Most of the time, he only asked to be left alone. 

Wong doesn't want to dote. He doesn't want to come across as annoying. Smothering might just make Stephen uncomfortable; he needed to know his limits. 

But then again, what if he came across as too aloof? What if Stephen thought he was being unsupportive? It wasn't like he was a saint-- he looked through his journal, for crying out loud. How could he be trusted after that?

Oftentimes, Wong would sit outside the study, listening to Stephen mutter incoherent things under his breath. He wished he could reach into Stephen's heart or something and just...help him. But he didn't know what to ask, what to say, or what to do. 

The Cloak was just as concerned, he could tell. The faithful fabric would often linger outside the door, cocking its collar sadly. He'd brush it tenderly, assuring him that Stephen was alright, and usually just talk to it like it was a small child. 

"It's okay. He's just resting," he'd whisper. "He's alright." 

The Cloak would lower its collar sadly, despite the reassurance. 

"How about you accompany me to the kitchen? I'm making tea."

While that never got the Cloak to perk up, it did provide a fine distraction. The both of them would stay in the kitchen, making various teas, accompanied only by each other and the ambience of the Sanctum. He'd sit in near the study, sipping his tea, while thinking about his time back at the Kamar-Taj. 

It was a simpler time, where he could just watch books and tell Stephen what he could and couldn't do. Now they were dating. And everything's just been 10x more confusing from there. 

When Stephen got up from the couch to go to the potluck, he was cautiously optimistic. Maybe this was a sign that better times were coming. But he wouldn't know, cause Stephen never told him how the potluck ended. All that happened was Stephen coming home and retreating to the study for the night. Yet again. 

So imagine his shock when, instead of isolating himself from the world, Stephen announced he'd be going back to the HQ just two days afterwards. Wong didn't know how to respond. Literally. He was concerned about Stephen's comfortability with the situation, but he also didn't want to pry him about it. So when Stephen left, all he said was,

"Have a nice day. I love you."

He didn't hear an 'I love you' back. 

The door closed. Once again, he was left with bitter silence. 

...But today was going to be different. No matter how the meeting went. Because when Stephen came home, he'd talk to him. 

He didn't know how to talk to him, but he knows something who does. 

Taking out his cellphone, he tried to think about the number Stephen told him all those years ago. What was it? 332...

_ *ring* _

"Hello?" A woman asked. 

"Christine Palmer?"

"Oh, Wong!" Christine beamed. He could practically hear her smiling on the other end. "I didn't know you had a cellphone. Do you know what's been happening with Stephen?"

"Interesting that you'd ask, because I wanted to talk to you about--"

"I've been trying to call him everyday, but he never answers. And I just wanted to know...if he's okay. I heard a rumor a few weeks ago that he landed in the hospital. I-Is that true?"

Wong swallowed. 

"...Yes," he said bluntly. "Recently, Stephen Strange was hospitalized following a private incident, and he's been slowly recovering over the past month or so." 

"How...How did he get injured?" 

"He fell into a lake." 

"He didn't fall, did he?" She asked, concerned. Wong was about to answer her, but then she repeated herself. "He didn't fall, did he... He  _ dove _ ." 

He froze. Right on the money.

"Yes," he affirmed. "He-- He dove."

Christine was quiet. For a moment, he thought she had hung up. But she finally broke the silence with a sigh. 

"Wong, I know this should be private, but--"

"Did this ever happen to Stephen while you two were attending college?" It just slipped out. He didn't think about what he was saying, but he wanted to know. How long had this been going on? How could he help him? 

Christine was silent once again. 

"...Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, but it's just-- he's-- he's distant," Wong admitted at last. "He's been a recluse in his own home. He doesn't sleep in his bedroom anymore, only on his couch. I try to talk to him, but he's uninterested. I leave him alone, and he's despondent. He's hurting, but he doesn't know what to do. Neither do I. I want to help him. How did you help him?" 

He could hear several instances of Christine gasping, as if cutting herself off before she could tell him. After a few aborted attempts, she settled on one simple sentence. 

"I stayed with him." 

Wong didn't know how to react. Wasn't that standard for a relationship? For better or for worse, through sickness and in health? 

Christine sensed this awkward silence and was quick to elaborate. 

"No matter what he said to me or about himself, I stayed by his side. It's hard, really hard, but he's my friend. And I loved him. And despite everything he said, he loved me."

Something about that just...clicked with him. No matter how much he ignored him, or how little he actually said those 3 words, Wong never doubted Stephen's love for him. And it's hard, as she said, but he's worth it. 

"I know how you feel, about being confused on what to do," Christine continued. "Stephen's...odd like that. Give him love, and he gives it right back, but he never takes it. All I can say is be patient. Don't overwhelm him, but don't abandon him either. He gets lost in his thoughts easily. Just be there for him, as best as you can." 

"Thank you, Christine," Wong replied, grateful. "I-- I don't know how to thank you. Has this...happened before?"

He heard her swallow. 

"In college, Stephen was always distracted by the death of his-- he, uhm, he sort of had a-- during class and I-- look," she huffed. "I can't tell you if Stephen isn't there. He needs to tell you himself."

That made sense. Wong nodded. 

"Thank you," he said. 

"Mhm," Christine replied quickly, voice shaky. 

Feeling her anxiety on the other end, Wong decided to try and calm her fears. 

"Stephen Strange is going to be okay." 

A pause. 

"May I visit him?" Christine asked, anxiously. "I just want to talk to him." 

He made a note to talk to Stephen as fast as he could. It was the least he could do for her. 

"I'll see what I can do," Wong assured. "Take care." 

She hung up. Wong pocketed his phone, leaving him alone with just his thoughts. He thought about what he was gonna say. He imagined looking Stephen in the eye and telling him, straight up, "let me help you."

Firm, but not too firm. Sweet, but not condescending. Caring, without being intrusive. 

He loved Stephen. He needed to do as much as he could to help him. 

So he waited. And waited. And waited. 

The clock struck 6 PM. Still no Stephen. 

Wong slumped in his chair, constantly exchanging glances between the clock and the door, waiting for it to open. About 45 minutes came and went, and finally the door opened at last. The Cloak rushed through the door, towards Wong. He looked over the fabric, trying to see if Stephen was returning behind him...but nobody else came. 

He looked at the Cloak worryingly. That's when he noticed a piece of paper that it was holding up. He slowly took it and opened it up. 

_ Wong, I'm going out for a little bit. I don't know when I'll be back. I just need some time alone. I'll be somewhere safe. If you need me, you'll know where to find me.  _

_ Love, Stephen Strange _

He went upstairs to search for his sling ring immediately. A few minutes later, he stepped into the Avengers' HQ. 

* * *

"What happened at this meeting?" Wong repeated as the Avengers read Stephen's note.

"We tried having a group therapy session. A rejuvenation circle," Steve explained, still looking over the note. 

"Reviews were mixed, to put it lightly," Tony quipped. "We came onto Stephen a bit too much and he...puked. Yeah." 

Wong grimaced. So this entire time, he was worrying over hurting Stephen even more, when these guys were doing it for him. Huh. 

Steve turned around and addressed Wong upright. 

"Look, Wong, we've been worried about Stephen ever since the picnic. He told me...something after the potluck, so I wanted to hold this meeting to try and help him. But it wasn't the support he needed, and we acknowledge that. I know you love him. I know you two are a couple, and I--"

"Wait," Tony interrupted, looking up. " _ That's _ why you let them leave?"

Steve glared at him, signaling for him to keep quiet. 

"Yes, and I thought it would be better if--" 

"No," Tony interrupted, holding up a finger. "No, no, no. We all voted. We said it would've been better to keep Stephen stable and break it to him lightly. We  _ voted!" _

_ " _ It wasn't unanimous." 

"That's because  _ you're _ the only person who opposed it!" 

"Are you guys supposed to be The Avengers?" Wong asked, breaking them up before they could strangle each other. The Cloak wrapped around both of their wrists angrily. "Because right now you look like a couple of squabbling school children."

The two of them looked at each other, then at Wong. Both of them took a moment to breathe and calm down. He was right; they shouldn't be arguing right now. 

"We don't know much about Doctor Strange," Steve admitted "But we want to make amends. We want him to feel better." Urgently, he turned to Tony. "Tony, try finding any signal of magic energy in New York City."

"Right," Tony didn't argue, he just went straight to the computers. 

"Scott, check to see if any of his garments or materials had a tracking device embedded in them." 

"On it."

"Quill--"

"Stop it," Wong halted the Captain's orders. "All of it. If Stephen said he needed space, then we'll give him some space. If this were some sort of...suicide mission, then he wouldn't have left a note." 

He felt the Cloak cling to his shoulders, shaking with worry. He brushed his hand on its side, trying to soothe it. 

"That, and the Cloak probably would be far more panicky," Wong told the heroes, who were now all looking at him. "He's somewhere safe."

"Yeah, well, where is this 'somewhere'?" Tony remarked. 

That, Wong couldn't immediately answer. Assumedly, Stephen could go anywhere he wanted with just a wave of his hands. He could've disappeared to the depths of the Dream Dimension, or to the safe confines of the Kamar-Taj, away from the rest of the world.

But then he reminded himself, Stephen expected him to know where he'd be. He wouldn't tell Wong that he would be okay if he was intending to recklessly run away to some random location. One image popped up when imagining Stephen's safe place-- a place where he knew he would go if he was having a bad day. 

He turned around to the Avengers with an epiphany. They watched him with baited breath. 

"I think I know where he is."

* * *

Nestled in a forest near the hills of Nebraska was a tiny, old farmhouse. The smoky red paint began peeling decades ago ever since the death of its owners. As such, the land crops slowly died out, leaving the area virtually abandoned. The family that once occupied the home all disappeared a long, long time ago. 

There was a sturdy porch at the front of the house, decorated with a fine, homemade oak porch swing. At the break of dawn, it often gifted the family with a beautiful mural of a sunrise. Aside from the constant smell of mulch and fertilizer, there was always a fresh scent of rich soil and growing peach trees most abundant in summer. 

Yet, despite the house's secrecy, it was almost always surrounded by fresh rose bushes. As if someone never left it behind. 

Stephen Strange woke up new. 

One beautiful summer day, he stepped onto the porch just as the sun was rising. Breathing in the sweet peach air, he descended down the steps of the porch and walked beside the trees. The scent of rich fruit filled him with overbearing nostalgia. 

Ghosts of his past ran through this desolate farm. He could see kids chasing each other through the crops. A mother and father watching in bliss. A family clad in darkness. And finally, a lone child driving away from the house one final time. 

It's been a long, long road ever since. 

Eventually, he found a lovely oak tree facing the miraculous sunrise. He sat underneath it and watched as the sun rose above the horizon along a beautiful, shimmering lake. He was truly alone now-- the only company was his hectic, loud thoughts racing through his head. 

He closed his eyes...and found himself getting lost in his own mind.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through.


	6. who, who among you, who's coming with me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen has a conversation with himself.

_ So. This is what it's come to. Cowering away at your parents' house to sulk. But what did I expect of you? This always happens. You never get better, you'll never be better, so why do you even try?  _

_ God. After last time, it should've been the end of this. But you just had to try and drown yourself, huh? It couldn't wait until you got home. You made a commotion, your friends were scared for you, and tried to make you happy. And look at what you did. You just pushed them all away like you always do. God, no wonder you're so depressing.  _

**No. No, you're being irrational. You can't control your brain-- it's not your fault that you're depressed. Everything just kept building up for you. It's understandable that you'd react. But at least you're alive.**

**At least you're alive.**

**That's what you need to remember. You're alive. Your friends** **_want_ ** **you alive. They wouldn't have gone through all that trouble just to recruit you, would they?**

_ Why are you calling them your "friends?" What have you ever done for them? They went through all that trouble just for you to make another scene. Ungrateful bastard.  _

Maybe if you saved Donna, everything would be okay.

_ I mean, you were there. You could swim. Why didn't you? You just watched her drown.  _

**You were scared. So you turned your life to medicine. And that's how you ended up here. You can't live with guilt for the rest of your life-- it'll always just end up destroying you in the end.**

**Breathe in. Breathe out. You're safe.**

**You're going to be okay.**

**...**

_ Bullshit.  _

_ You heard me. Bullshit! You say that every single time, "everything is going to be okay." And yet, you always end up in the hospital, isolating yourself from your friends, ruining yet another relationship.  _

_ You and Wong were going well, you know. He loved you. He spent the entire morning making breakfast and tea for you. Even when you snapped at him and told him to go away, he was there for you. But you couldn't give a shit, could you? You just had to keep him out.  _

_ You want help, but you never allow yourself to take it. Look at everyone-- they're offering you medicine, therapy, time out of their day to listen to their problems. And all you do is shut each and every one of them out of your little hole. It's pathetic.  _

_ Wong loves you. You're being a shitty partner.  _

**No, no, calm down. Look at yourself. Trying to beat yourself up for trying to kill yourself. A relationship is a two-person load. And right now, it's hard for you to pull your own weight.**

**You need to apologize to Wong. Make amends. Let him know that you genuinely love him back and you appreciate how hard he's been trying to help you. He still loves you. It's not like he'd walk away.**

_ Yes, he would.  _

**No, he wouldn't.**

_ Does he have any reason to stay with you other than the fact that you just so happen to be "one of the strongest sorcerers alive?" He needs to keep you alive, or else all Hell will break loose. Think about it: if you killed yourself, the entire world would end. How selfish could you possibly be?  _

**It's not selfish. You're going through a hard time and you need to rest. If Rome fell, you wouldn't be able to rebuild it in a day. Be patient. Learn how to love yourself.**

_ That's what you always tell yourself. You can't even listen to your own advice. Time after time again, you relapse. You always do.  _

You should've been less reckless.

You shouldn't have yelled at Christine, she was just trying to save you.

In fact, you shouldn't even be alive right now.

_ How do you think Christine felt that night? When you swallowed all those pills, numb as a goddamn rock, she was desperately pounding on the bathroom doors begging you to open up. She was scared out of her mind. She thought you were gonna die.  _

_ But you were just waiting to pass on peacefully. You were subjecting your girlfriend to your own death. Why the Hell are you even alive? Why can't you just drive off a cliff already?  _

_ I bet you're just doing it all for attention. You don't want anyone to leave you, so if you threaten to kill yourself, they'll stay. You're holding yourself hostage, aren't you?  _

_ Aren't you?  _

_ Aren't you?  _

_... _

_......... _

_............... _

You should've been a better sorcerer. Do you think The Ancient One made her loved ones suffer like this? You need to pull your shit together and stop making your friends miserable. Just put on a happy smile and do your goddamn job. Fight until you die. 

You should've been a better boyfriend. Christine just wants to check in on you-- why did you stop calling her? She's worried. Maybe if you actually cared about her, maybe if you put in enough effort for her, she'd still love you. Same with Wong-- you just keep pushing him away, jumping into lakes like it's nothing, expecting him to just take it. Don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself?

You should've been a better friend. Your friends keep trying to help you, but all you care about is the fact they want you to join their team. Why won't you join their team anyway, huh? You're such a selfish prick. Why can't you be normal?

You should've been better.

You should've been better.

You will never be better.

_ You need to be better.  _

_... _

**You can be better.**

**Remember-- breathe.**

**If you were doing this for attention, you would've told someone. If Quill didn't see you, you would've drowned alone. You didn't do it for attention. You did it because you're hurt and you need help.**

**You can become better. But you need to try. Everyone is giving your resources-- you have to reach out and help yourself. You can't get help if you don't seek it out.**

**It's okay. Repeat that-- everything is going to be okay. You can make amends with Christine. You can tell Wong that you love him.**

**But first of all, you need to admit it to yourself: you need help.**

**You need help.**

**_You need help._ **

**_You need help._ **

* * *

When Stephen woke up, the sun was nearly setting. 

Refreshingly, his heart wasn't racing. His mind wasn't yelling. His nerves were steady. An early evening breeze rushed through him, relaxing him. Everything was quiet. It was just him, alone, with the angelic setting sun. 

His thoughts echoed in the depths of his brain. But oddly enough, they weren't attacking him. It was all just a repeated mantra: he was safe. He was okay. He didn't feel entirely content, but this was satisfying. Closing his eyes, he let himself sink into the soft grass as he repeated the mantra to himself. 

It was lovely. He smiled to himself, promising to hold this memory to his heart.

Soon, darkness fell onto him. When he opened his eyes again, he was met with the remarkable sight of a star-painted sky. He sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, and was hit by a wave of nostalgia as he examined the constellations. Once upon a time, long ago, he was right here with his family, pointing at each and every golden mark shining down on him. 

For a moment, he almost felt as if they were staring down at him now. 

A few minutes later, the sound of an opening portal hummed behind him. He turned around, gazing at the radiant orange ring that was summoned behind him. Wong stepped out of it, the Cloak hung on his shoulders. 

They shared an unbroken gaze. The only sound that pierced the air was that of cicadas. 

"Hi," Wong spoke suddenly, breaking their silence. 

"Hey," Stephen responded, looking down. His hand tightly clutched the grass beneath him. 

Wong approached him, his expression void of any anger or sternness. He looked at ease. 

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked. 

Stephen shook his head. "It's good."

Wong grinned at him and sat down beside him. The two men stared up at the night sky, occasionally stealing glances at each other. 

"It's a beautiful night sky," Wong said, looking up. 

"I know," Stephen replied, taking the opportunity to steal another glance at him. 

Wong looked at him, causing Stephen to look away quickly. Wong smiled, tipping his head down to insinuate that he could tell he was looking. He chuckled in a response, a sound that made Stephen's cheeks heat up. 

"I didn't want to visit you right away," Wong admitted. His hand intuitively inched towards Stephen's. Neither of them commented on it. "When night came, I just...wanted to know that you were doing okay." 

He had to admit, this was nice, being able to talk to Wong normally. He'd missed this-- he missed the teasing, the glances, the intimacy. 

"I love you," Stephen said at last. 

"I love you too," Wong replied. 

Even though he's heard that phrase countless times before, it still made his heart swell. 

But he couldn't end it here. He knew that. He couldn't just pretend everything was hunky-dory now. If he just continued to bury his feelings and act like nothing's happening, history would just repeat itself. 

He loved this feeling. He wanted to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible. But he knew he had to face the music eventually. 

He turned to Wong, finally saying what he should've said all those years ago. 

"I need help." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something a little experimental for this chapter. Sometimes when I talk to myself, I have a rational voice debating with an irrational voice, so I wanted to try and channel that here. We only have a few chapters left to go, to stay tuned. And I promise that things only get better from here.


	7. give me something to hold onto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen and Wong have a talk.

_ "So, this is where you grew up?" Wong asked, cocking an eyebrow.  _

_ Stephen responded with a coy smile. "Yup." _

_ The librarian looked around the warm farm, gazing at the grazed field and sweet fruit trees lined up near the fence. The house was nestled in a spot that bore just enough shade, shielding them from the unbearable summer heat, while also giving them just enough sun to enjoy.  _

_ Never in a million years would he have taken Stephen Strange for a farm boy.  _

_ One lovely summer, he wondered aloud if they should take a vacation. They had been working for weeks on end, constantly patrolling the plentiful dimensions like it was nothing. More often than not, the multiverse was quiet. When it wasn't pouring, the raging summer heat allowed the members of the Kamar-Taj to take a break.  _

_ Stephen, ever the nosy one, overheard Wong's musings. He mentioned something about a relaxing childhood farm, and soon the two of them were stepping onto the porch of a cozy Nebraskan home.  _

_ He gazed at him lovingly. Stephen was leaning on the wooden railing of the porch, admiring the ripe fruits smiling from the trees. He'd never seen him this peaceful before.  _

_ "Enjoying the view?" He asked, walking over to him. He wrapped his arm around his waist, resting his hand on his hip.  _

_ Stephen looked at him, snapping out of his gaze, and just chuckled.  _

_ "Well, yeah. Some of the most important moments of my life happened here," he mused, leaning into his shoulder.  _

_ The two stood there, watching the sun descend below the horizon, leaving a myriad of stars in its disappearance. For a while, they were content with this; just the two of them, alone on a farm, watching the beautiful night sky. The only sound accompanying them was the whistle of an evening breeze.  _

_ Stephen wanted this. Wong could tell. The creases on his forehead had disappeared briefly as he just took in the sight of the farm and relaxed. It was a simple life. A simple, calming, cozy life.  _

_ Maybe one day, he'd be able to give it to him.  _

* * *

Here they were again, that lovely summer long forgotten. The situation was all too familiar: the two of them under a blanket of bright stars. But Stephen wasn't relaxing. 

Far from it. 

"I need help."

Wong looked at him, immediately noticing the stress in his eyes. 

"This has happened so many goddamn times," Stephen continued, fatigue seeping into his voice. "I've pushed away so many people throughout my life. I've convinced myself that isolation was key. I always thought I was incapable of love. But now I'm here, with you. And I know that I can't just...push this all away anymore."

He was on the verge of tears, breathing faster and faster with every word. He looked desperate-- he was basically on his knees, begging for forgiveness. 

"I--I need help."

He was trying so hard not to cry. He looked...he looked miserable. 

Wong places his hands on his shoulders, comforting him. He wished he knew that he didn't need to beg. He was willing to give him whatever he needed, no matter what. 

"We can get you help," Wong stated, voice soft. "We have resources. You just need to take one step at a time."

"I know, I know," Stephen said, pulling away. He didn't look at all tranquil. He just looked distraught and even more terrified. 

Wong watched him. "Stephen?"

Stephen swallowed, hanging his head low, his body tensing up. 

"But what if it's not enough?" 

He looked up, revealing tears trailing down his face. 

"What if it doesn't work? What if--What if I end up walking into traffic? Or jumping off the roof of the Sanctum? What if _this all just happens **again?!**_ " 

"Stephen--"

"I--I've been to therapy before. I've taken meds years ago, and here I am again! I'm just screwing up your life, I can't--!" 

Reaching out to him, Wong pulled him into a hug, cutting him off. 

"Like I said before, I don't expect you to get better right away," he consoled, rubbing circles into his back. "Change isn't easy. One step at a time." 

"One step at a time," Stephen repeated, voice shaking. "But what if--"

"Stop thinking about what ifs. Think about here and now. If you relapse, I'll be here." 

At long last, Stephen was quiet. No announcement of anxieties or concerns. Just peace. He rested his head on Wong's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. 

"I need to talk to Christine," he rasped. "She's been calling me every morning, and I--"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that," Wong interrupted. "I called her this afternoon, and she wanted to know if you were free for a chat someday."

Stephen's eyes widened. He lifted his head up. 

"You called her? How...How's she doing?"

"She's good," Wong nodded. 

He lowered his head back down, smiling to himself. 

"She's worried about you, though."

The smile disappeared as quickly as it came. 

"Of course she is," he muttered sadly. "If I wasn't so goddamn reckless, we wouldn't be here right now."

"Taking on Dormammu was reckless as hell," Wong brought up. "Yet you saved the Earth."

Stephen didn't argue. He was too tired to talk. The Cloak floated off of Wong's shoulders and wrapped itself around Stephen comfortingly. 

Wong let him wade in the silence, hoping his embrace and the calm whistle of the wind was enough to soothe him. He couldn't help but reassure himself that he was here, in his arms, still alive. 

"This is not your fault," he reiterated. "It never was."

He felt Stephen crying quietly in his shoulder for a few more minutes. Eventually, he went limp. He could feel his breath on his neck, though, but he finally seemed to have reached his limit. 

Wong used one hand to dig into his pocket for his Sling Ring. Stephen continued to lean into him as he raised his hands and formed a portal to the Sanctum. 

Holding Stephen securely, he helped him to his feet. The Cloak helped support his weight, using one of its corners to wipe away his tears. With a deep breath, the two of them walked toward the portal. 

"Let's go home." 

* * *

Once he was lucid enough, Stephen made his way to the study, examining the small book near the desk next to the couch. He read through the pages, blankly staring at the bloody marks left next to the spiteful words he'd left all those weeks ago. 

Wong entered the room with a few clean blankets. Stephen turned his body to him, nose still buried in the small book. 

"You read my journal, right?" 

The question caught Wong off guard. He looked down awkwardly. 

"...Yes," he said. "Once again, I'm sorry I looked through it, I just--" 

"No, no, I understand," Stephen replied, looking up at him. "You were worried about me. I get it."

He paused, glancing down at the journal once again. With a soft sigh, he closed the book and set it down. 

"How about this? No more secrets. From now on, I'll try to tell you everything troubling me."

Wong gazed at him, then gave him a sweet smile. 

"That sounds great to me." 

Stephen smiled back, taking the blankets from him and sitting down on the couch. But that smile quickly faltered as the weight of guilt started bringing his heart down. 

"I'm sorry that--"

"Don't apologize," Wong cut him off, placing a hand on his. Stephen turned to him, looking into his eyes. "You've done enough apologizing for a lifetime. Just go to sleep." 

With a nod, but still no smile, Stephen lowered himself onto the couch and wrapped the blanket around him. Wong went to turn off the lights, the Cloak following right behind him. 

"I love you."

Stephen adored that phrase. The way he said it was incredible, even if he's said it a million times at this point. And even when he didn't respond, he never stopped telling him. 

As he closed his eyes, Stephen called out to him. 

"I love you too." 

He heard the door shut behind him, but not after some brief hesitation. 

Stephen closed his eyes and tried to finally forget about this hellhole of a day. Tomorrow he'd start anew. Tomorrow would be better. 

Minutes flew past, but he just couldn't sleep. For some reason, the couch just felt so much more barren tonight. Relaxation was impossible for him, no matter what he did. When midnight struck and he was still awake, he finally sat up. 

He thought about his predicament, wondering what was wrong today as opposed to all those previous days. But then his eyes gazed down at the journal resting upon the table...and he knew. 

Gathering his blankets, he quietly walked upstairs and opened up the door to his bedroom. Wong was already asleep (of course), but the side of the bed where Stephen once slept was completely empty. He slowly climbed into the bed, careful not to disturb his beloved, and sunk into the softness of the mattress. 

He didn't hold Wong. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. 

As he finally drifted off to sleep, he beamed for the first time in what felt like a million years.

He'd missed this. 

* * *

The morning after, he woke up to an empty bed. Judging by the high sun creeping through the window, it was already late morning. Stephen simply turned onto his side and tried to go back to sleep, not used to waking up early. 

Then he felt a distinct ringing coming from his pocket. 

Tiredly sitting up, he quickly dug for his phone. Right on time; it was 10 am already. Christine's name flashed across his screen, the phone icon buzzing right beneath his eyes. Anxiety swelled in his heart, paralyzing him for a moment. 

With a hesitant finger, he accepted the call. Slowly lifting his phone to his ear, he spoke. 

"Christine?" 

A gasp. 

"Stephen!" Christine exclaimed. He couldn't tell if it was from joy, relief, or shock. "Oh-- um, I mean, hi Stephen. We haven't talked in awhile. I just-- I just wanted to know if you were okay." 

He paused. What could he say that wouldn't make her worry? 

"I'm doing well," he said calmly. "And you?"

Another pause. 

"I'm...I'm fine." 

Then, the unsure silence. Their conversation stopped dead in its tracks, with neither one of them certain how to continue. Guilt piled heavily onto Stephen's back, climbing up his throat. He spoke first; it was the least he could do. 

"How about you come to the Sanctum today?" He asked, finally clearing up his mind. "We can talk more then."

Christine tried to respond, but she couldn't quite find the right words. She stumbled over her sentence for a few seconds, before finally breathing in and regaining control. 

"That would be great," she said. "I can come over in an hour or two." 

Stephen gave himself a small smile. 

"Sweet. I'll see you then." 

"See you then."

She hung up. Stephen placed his phone down, lost in thought about his upcoming meeting. He didn't know what to feel. Sad? Happy? Excited? Who knows how Christine's been feeling about this whole...thing they have going on? 

He sighed, screwing his eyes shut. 

Hopefully he'd make it out of it alive. 

* * *

She was sitting there. In his study. Right across from him. 

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) enough, neither of the friends had anything to say. A thick tension lingered in the air, both of them wondering when it would be broken. 

On one hand, both of them knew this was inevitable. They hadn't spoken in weeks, it was only natural that they wouldn't have any words. But on the other hand, both of them wished that this could just all go back to normal. That they didn't have trouble trying to form one sentence in the presence of the other. 

Stephen cleared his voice, finally breaking the excruciating quiet. 

"I'll just address the elephant in the room," he stated. Christine cocked an eyebrow. Between them, that could've meant anything. "I almost drowned a month ago."

Stephen was expecting any reaction. Astonishment. Sorrow. Frustration. What he got was a blank "mhm". 

"I heard," Christine said, as if she already knew what happened. She examined him, head to toe. "You seem to be doing well, though." 

"I know you're just saying that to be nice," he attempted to joke. It didn't land, as Christine remained stone-faced. Stephen looked away. "You talked to Wong, didn't you?"

Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. 

"It's fine, it's fine," he assured. "I just..." 

"Stephen."

He looked up at her. Her arms were crossed, but her eyes looked concerned. 

"Do you remember what happened that night?" 

Oh. Right.  _ That _ night. 

Stephen swallowed. Of course he knew about that night. His memory was hazy, but he remembered. He remembered his heart racing, his brain yelling at him by the second, and the sound of crying. Whether it was from him or Christine, he couldn't remember. 

He didn't think about that night very often. 

"I was on the bathroom floor in my dorm," he asserted, trying not to let himself drift away to that night. "You were knocking and calling my name. Then I woke up in the hospital."

Christine nodded, looking away from him. 

"I was scared," Stephen said. 

"I know," Christine replied. "So was I." 

The painful silence returned. Stephen felt a weight dragging his heart down. What could he say? What could he do? 

"Christine, I tried to see that therapist--"

"Did you?"

She shot him down quickly. Staring him down, her expression bore a great amount of hurt. Her nails dug into his forearms. 

"I threw away the pills," Stephen said, trying to reassure her. She just nodded her head and sighed again. 

"And you buried your emotions, graduated med school, and became a top notch doctor," she finally gave him a glance. "When that failed, you just buried your emotions again." 

The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He was choking on his words. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. She was right. She was completely right. All he did was push her around and force her to carry his emotional weight when he couldn't do it himself. 

He tossed his hands up in frustration with himself. 

"Here I am, burying my emotions yet again," he muttered with a bitter chuckle. He looked at Christine, who wasn't laughing. She just wanted a response. Any response. She couldn't carry this conversation any longer. 

So he spoke. 

"It's hard for me to talk about my feelings, as immature as that sounds," he revealed, admitting it to the both of them for the first time. He started breathing heavier. "The accident was just...I was  _ there _ . I was supposed to watch over her..."

He stared off, eyes ridden with guilt and messy tears. No, he couldn't cry. Not in front of Christine. He'd already given her too much pain. 

"The funeral was the last time I saw my family," he said out loud. 

The world seemed to slip away. He didn't feel at home anymore; reality was nothing but a daydream. He kept breathing, breathing, breathing, but he didn't feel any air entering his system. 

"Look at me, Stephen." 

He heard Christine's voice, distant and airy. He latched onto it, using it as an anchor. 

"Look at me." 

She spoke softly, but definitely concerned. When he finally looked up, she had gotten out of her chair and walked toward him, placing a hand comfortingly on his back. 

"Breathe."

He listened to her. She repeated herself over and over again, and he just listened to her. It was all he could do. 

"Do you want to see a therapist?" 

Stephen sat in silence, thinking over the question. 

"Yes. I do," he concluded. 

"Then you'll find a therapist. I'll help you if you need it," she placed her hands on his shoulders and bent down to look him in the eye. "I'll be here." 

At this point, he couldn't stay calm anymore. He started quietly sobbing, placing his head into his palms, humiliated by himself. 

"I'm sorry for forcing my life into your hands," he apologized desperately. "I'm sorry for yelling at you and abandoning you. I'm sorry, I'm--" 

Soon, he was reduced to incoherent murmurings. He was cut off by Christine taking him in a hug, just as Wong did the night before. 

"It's okay. It's okay," she assured. "I forgive you." 

And that was it-- the one thing that brought him peace. The thing that made the voice in his head screaming at him that he was worthless shut up. His crying slowly quieted down, his heart slowing to a normal pace. He closed his eyes, tired but relaxed. 

She forgave him. Those were the best words he could possibly hear. He wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"Thank you."

* * *

Maybe it was reckless of him to go outside after everything that happened in the past two days. But hey, recklessness wasn't always a bad thing for him. If he put it off now, it'll just be another cowardly blight on his shoulders. 

He dug one of his hands into his jean pocket. The other one was holding Wong's hand as the two of them stared at the elevator doors that were leading them into the Avengers HQ. 

"Are you still sure you want to do this?" Wong asked, looking at him with concern. 

Stephen nodded. "It's the polite thing to do." 

Wong stayed quiet the rest of the ride. All he did was take Stephen's hand and kiss it. 

"For good luck," he explained. Stephen smirked at him, the kiss giving him a brief rush of confidence. 

The elevator doors opened, revealing the interior of a workroom. Steve was there, looking over a few discarded files. Just as Stephen expected. Once the elevator dinged, Steve glanced at who was in the freight. 

"Doctor Strange!" he hollered, a smile leaping to his face. However, his sense of professionalism caught up to him and he coughed, reverting back to his normal attitude. You're...you're here." 

Stephen nodded, stepping out of the elevator. 

"Yes, I am," he said. " I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for my outburst yesterday, and I'd...I'd like to take up your offer and become an Avenger."

He offered a quivering hand in front of Steve, ready to shake and seal the deal. Steve looked at his hand in awe, surprised to hear the sudden offer. But when Stephen expected him to smile and take him in with open arms. He wasn't too excited about the deal, but hey, it was the least he could do after what happened. 

But, to his surprise, the Captain just shook his head, setting his own hand aside. 

"No. I can't take your offer."

A confused look flashed Stephen's face. Wong looked offended (but otherwise relieved) and was about to ask why, until Steve responded. 

"You were right. I shouldn't have taken advantage of your friendship. I'll only make you an Avenger if you actually want to be one. I think you're doing fine as is." 

He gave the sorcerers a genuine smile. Not a smile that concealed something ulterior; just a wide smile wishing them well. 

Something in both men's hearts lifted. Stephen appreciated the gesture greatly, lowering his own hand quickly. 

"Thank you, Mr. Rogers," he said, still stunned. 

He laughed. "Call me Steve." 

Stephen's eyes widened. He actually felt like they were friends now. 

"Call me whenever you need my help," Stephen quipped. "Oh, and call me Stephen. Stephen's good." 

Steve laughed again. Stephen laughed as well, letting himself relax knowing that he's not just trying to recruit him anymore. With a grateful nod, Stephen started making his way back to the elevator. 

"Thanks for your time." 

"I'll be seeing you later," Steve called out. 

Entering the elevator, Stephen grinned to himself. Once the doors closed, Wong lightly elbowed him. 

"That went well," he beamed. 

He gave him a smile. It sure did, he thought to himself. 

The two of them were expecting to make it back to ground level, go back to the Sanctum, and finally unwind together again. But when the elevator opened again, they were just met without another floor...and Tony Stark standing right in front of him. 

"Hey."

Stephen didn't respond. Tony entered the elevator with no other words. The doors closed and the elevator descended once again. 

The both of them stayed at least 3 inches apart during most of the ride. Wong squeezed Stephen's hand, looking at him protectively. But before either of them could make conversation with each other, it was shockingly Tony that instigated the small talk with two simple words. 

"I'm sorry."

Stephen snapped his head at him, shocked by his statement. Tony just bowed his chin at him, gazing above his sunglasses. His expression was haughty, but somehow Stephen could tell that he meant it. 

"You didn't deserve anything I said," he continued. "I'm not gonna pretend I never said it. I just wanted to apologize." 

He was still in shock that this was happening. It all came so suddenly. 

"Wow. That's big of you, Tony," he replied. "I'm sorry for what I've said as well. It was childish of me to partake in our feud, and I hope we can start anew." 

Tony didn't say anything encouraging. He just looked straight ahead again and kept quiet. That was, until he dug into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. 

"Take this," he commanded, handing the paper to Stephen. 

He took it cautiously, examining it to find that it was a...a phone number. 

"I'm seeing a therapist now. It's probably not wise to share a therapist, though, so here's a number to the office. Who knows?" He glanced at him. "There might be someone just right for you." 

This was...great. 

"Thank you," Stephen said, genuinely grateful. He folded the slip and kept it in his pocket. "I don't know what to say." 

Once again, Tony didn't say anything more than he needed to. The elevator stopped, dinged, and opened its door. Tony walked out of the freight. 

"Hope to see you around, Copperfield." 

Stephen could've sworn he smirked ever so slightly. 

The doors closed once more, finally giving Stephen and Wong a true moment alone. 

"Once again," Wong spoke up, "that went well." 

Another stop, another ding, and they were back at the ground level at last. The two of them stepped out and walked outside. 

"You've been saying sorry a lot, lately," Wong mused as they walked together. "What did I say about you apologizing too much?" 

Stephen looked around the scenery of New York. A scene he hadn't seen for the longest time. He missed it-- the sun on his skin, the bustling ensemble, the beautiful trees as they walked past the park. He intertwined their fingers together and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. 

"Don't worry, Wong," he said with a grin. "I'm good."

He gazed at the sky, admiring the fact that there wasn't a cloud in sight on this magnificent day. 

"It's a beautiful day today. Something tells me we'll be seeing more blue skies ahead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be the last one. I hope you enjoyed this ride.


	8. pride to live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen makes it through the year.

Sitting at his barren desk, Stephen loomed over his journal. A brand new page stared up at him, clean of any blood or scornful messages directed at himself. Unfortunately, a fresh wave of writer's block had washed over him. The feeling was frustrating; he knew  _ what _ he wanted to write, but when he tried to put his pen to the paper, his thoughts stopped in its tracks. 

Bouncing his leg impatiently, his eyes glanced at the clock above the desk: 8:00 AM. An entire half-hour had come and gone, yet the blank page still taunted him. 

It shouldn't have been this hard. The entire month was so goddamn tiring, it was only natural that he'd think of  _ something _ to say. 

How did he start his last entry? When did he even write his last entry? 

Taking a deep breath, he summoned nearly every memory surrounding the past month and started to write. 

_ July 10th.  _

_ Where the hell do I even begin? _

_ Well, first thing's first, I'm back on my feet. I'm still tired as shit, and there's this weird feeling of anxiety that follows me everywhere I go, but I'm back to being awake for most of the day.  _

_ I met with a therapist recently. First time ever since I was 16. She's nice--guess that's a given, though--but it's so weird. Not going to therapy, no, it's just...I can't believe I'm actually going to therapy again after all these years.  _

_ At least that's a step in the right direction. Speaking of steps, I've started trying to wake up early again. It's small, but it's something. Oh, I'm also eating again. Yesterday, I finished my entire dinner. Scratch that-- yesterday, I ate dinner. It feels childish, being proud of something like that, but it's true. I'm proud.  _

_ One day I'm gonna forget about this entire journal. One day, this will all just be a faint memory.  _

_ That isn't a prediction. That's a statement. I am going to make it through this year.  _

_ Today is going to be a good day. _

Smiling to himself, he signed the page as best as he could, and closed it promptly. 

* * *

7:30 AM, a bright summer morning. 

Wong entered the kitchen as usual, ready to start the day. He ran through his normal 

"Morning, love," Stephen greeted with a tired grin. He held up a pristine mug, steam floating right above it. "I made tea." 

Oh. That was a surprise. 

Wong took the cup from his hands, looking down at the contents, then back at Stephen. The man was leaning against the counter, swaying ever so slightly as a dazed smile danced across his face. Still wasn't used to it, he supposed. 

He sipped from the cup. It was...interesting. Not bad, just...interesting. Bitter, yet with an artificially sweet aftertaste. Just a little too citrusy. But hey, he still woke up early to make tea for them. It was always the thought that counted. 

"You should sit down," Wong said, guiding Stephen to the table. He practically fell into the chair, his arm nearly slamming onto the table. Wong sat down next to him, somewhat amused by his condition. "I like the tea." 

Stephen murmured something. "I know you're lying." 

"No," Wong replied. And he wasn't-- he liked the tea. It wasn't perfect, but it was made with love. "No, I'm not." 

He gazed up at him, still obviously tired, before putting his head back down. 

"Thank you," he muttered, before closing his eyes. 

Wong just shook his head and kissed him on the head. 

"Don't mention it." 

* * *

Christine and Stephen kept in touch for the next few weeks. 

Their meetings started out simple enough. Just some weekly phone calls, nothing more, nothing less. They'd discuss work and stuff-- or "interdimensional space junk" in Stephen's case --while maybe sharing a tidbit of gossip or two. 

But then, as time went on, they slowly regained their comfortability towards each other. Their discussions went on for hours, with more information being revealed each time. Eventually, both of them gained their courage and went outside to a cafe to talk in-person. It had been the first time they saw each other in person since...that last conversation...but to both of their delights, they didn't dwell on it for too long. 

"Holy shit, you don't know how to make _tea?_ " Christine asked in disbelief, biting into her scone. Stephen rolled his eyes. 

"Give me a break, I only drank coffee for most of my life," he said, sipping from his coffee cup to prove his point. "Besides, I know how to use tea bags and stuff. It's just the organic ones I have trouble with. Herbs and leaves and-- y'know!" 

He pointed at her with an accusatory tone, noticing the smug grin that crept onto her face. All she did was chuckle in response. 

"I know, I know," she replied, putting her hands up in mock surrender. 

Stephen couldn't help but smile. He hadn't heard her laugh in a long time. It was a pleasant sound. 

"Wong's nice about it, though," he continued. "Never calls me idiotic." 

"Cause you're  _ not _ idiotic," Christine said. 

A while ago, he would've set that assertion aside entirely, no matter how much of a joke it was. But he didn't take it seriously now. In fact, he just laughed it off this time. 

"Well, yeah, I was a neurosurgeon for crimity's sake!" 

The two shared another laugh. Christine smiled brightly, admiring her friend's behavior. She hadn't seen him grin this wide since, well, forever! 

It had been a long ride between them, but it was worth it. 

* * *

Stephen tended to the farm occasionally. His visits weren't too often, but a few hours or so after a truly tiring mission, he'd take a break. Arriving on the porch in an instant, Stephen would lean against the wooden railing, taking in the breeze. He'd water the flowers, pluck fruit from the trees, and then leave without a trace. It was almost like he was a ghost, haunting his own old estate. 

More often than not, he'd ask Wong to accompany him. 

Normally, they wouldn't enter the house itself (Stephen didn't want to ruin any of the furniture), so they'd usually just cuddle on the porch swing. They'd watch the rosy sunset, letting themselves be a normal, non-magic couple for one fleeting moment. 

These moments reminded Stephen of a simpler time, where he was just a kid who didn't have to care about the tragedies of the world. No stress, no anxiety-- just pure glee. Nostalgia would strike him when he felt the evening wind run through his hair. 

It was true, he missed these moments. But then he'd rest his head onto Wong's shoulder and he'd think: 

_ Maybe the present isn't so bad. _

* * *

Day by day, week by week. One step at a time. 

Every little thing counts, everyone says. Every tiny victory. Every meal eaten. Every therapy session attended. 

Every laugh. Every smile. Every "I love you."

It's cheesy, Stephen thinks. It's so goddamn cheesy. And on another note, it sometimes feel patronizing to celebrate each and every little thing. It almost feels like he's being treated like a kid; _"You finished all your food! Woo-hoo! Here's a gold star!"_

But still, he can't help but feel like he's improving. He's happier. He's regaining his confidence. He's back in action, better than ever before. 

This feeling continued into the winter. One snowy morning, Stephen woke up at the usual time, made breakfast, and dressed up in some warm outerwear. 

Wong descended down the stairs soon after, pleased by the plates of toast that were resting on the table. 

"Good morning, love," Stephen said, chipper. 

"Morning, Stephen," Wong nodded, before eyeing his clothing. "Where are you going?"

He grabbed his plate of toast and took a bite out of the bread. 

"Steve invited me to hangout with the guys for the holidays," he explained. He didn't think too much about it-- it was just going to be an outing with some friends. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Wong beamed, pleased at his sunny disposition. 

"Well, enjoy yourself." 

He grabbed his plate, pecked Stephen on the cheek, and proceeded to walk out the kitchen. However, before he could entirely disappear, he heard Stephen call out to him. 

"Do you want to come?" 

That was new. 

He contemplated the offer for a moment, still somewhat surprised. It was so sudden. But he didn't feel like he was saying it out of obligation. He really wanted him to join them. 

Wong didn't know much about the Avengers. But what he did know was that they tried to help Stephen in his time of need. He supposed he could get along with them. 

"Sure," Wong replied, setting his plate down. "Let me get changed first." 

A few minutes later, he returned out of his formal robes and into a casual puffy jacket. Stephen was already waiting by the door, one hand resting on the handle. He extended his free hand out, like a prince inviting his suitor, and Wong placed his hand in his tenderly. 

"Let's go," Stephen said. 

He opened the door, allowing the fresh winter chill to fully wake them up as they proceeded to the park. 

* * *

"Hey, look, it's Doc!" 

Stephen and Wong entered the park hand in hand. Immediately, they were met with happiness and open acceptance. 

"Welcome!" 

"Good to see you!" 

"How've you been?" 

Stephen looked through the crowd, wondering where Steve was. He had taken some time to bond with some of the other heroes around the city, but he kept coming back to Steve. 

As he was in the middle of saying hi to everybody, a small snowball pelted Stephen in the back of the head. He turned around and saw Steve and Tony behind a small snowy hill, millions of other small snowballs near their fortress. 

"Gotcha," Tony sang, playfully. 

Before Stephen or Wong it, the rest of the heroes had scattered as the a barrage of snowballs began pelting them. The two took cover near another snowy hill, where they crafted their own army of snowballs. 

And so, the war began. A day filled with laughter and total fun, where Stephen didn't think about anything else other than being in the moment. 

There were times when he'd be reminded of the...incident from way back when. But when those memories washed over him, he just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it all melt away. 

He wasn't there anymore. He was here, in the present, having a childish snowball fight with his friends. 

"Stay alive, Doctor," Wong teased. sneaking in a kiss. Stephen smirked cheekily before the two of them proceeded to levitate a brigade of snowballs before unleashing them onto the battlefield. 

There was dramatic renditions of dying screams throughout the park. It was joyous. A little embarrassing, but joyous nonetheless. 

Stephen watched as their little battle went on. 

Today was a good day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that brings us to the end of the fic. 
> 
> I'll be honest, I've never complete a fic as big as this one before. I wrote this entirely for me, truth be told. I've been struggling with thoughts similar to what Stephen went through in this story. I guess I used him as an outlet, haha. Strangely enough, one of the biggest things that's been keeping me going through 2020 and quarantine and junior year has been the release of Multiverse of Madness. Sure, it's been pushed back twice at this point, but it gives me something to look forward to. 
> 
> If you've read everything up to here, I cannot thank you enough. Please, stay safe, take care of yourself, and know that you're never alone. 
> 
> Signing off,   
> StrangerInAStrangeLand

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought in the comments down below! I'm in the process of editing the next chapters, so I would love some feedback if you have any! 
> 
> And, once again, please stay safe out there.


End file.
